The next day, rain fell softly over the forested peaks. It wasn't a heavy downpour, just a steady, unhurried drizzle that wrapped the world in mist. The scent of wet earth drifted through the open window, mingling with the faint petrichor from the hostel walls. Somewhere in the distance, a cuckoo called, its voice cutting through the cool air like a thread of sound.
Nikhil awoke to the patter of droplets against the glass and the quiet drip-drip outside the dorms. He had slept deeply—after unpacking and enduring Anuj's hour-long rant, they'd gone for a simple dinner in the mess. Exhausted from the long drive, he had crashed almost as soon as he hit the bed. Sleep had come easy.
He blinked open his eyes, the light dim and silvered from the cloudy morning. He hadn't set an alarm. His hand fumbled on the bedside table for his phone.
11:30.
They didn't have classes that day, only the White Coat Ceremony scheduled around 1 p.m. Plenty of time.
He got up leisurely, stretching. The other bed was empty except for a neatly folded, perfectly pressed white apron. Anuj was already up, sitting on the chair by the desk—fully dressed and hunched over the BDC Handbook of General Anatomy, his brows furrowed as he read nervously.
"You know classes haven't started yet, right?" Nikhil remarked, voice thick with sleep as he yawned.
Anuj hummed distractedly, eyes still fixed on the page. "I'm just doing some light reading. I woke up early, got ready, and since I didn't have anything else to do, I thought—might as well do a quick overview. You know, I heard the anatomy faculty is really strict—and the subject itself is so difficult. This is just the handbook, okay? There are like three other books for gross anatomy, and then neuroanatomy, embryology, histology—" he sighed miserably, "We're going to be drowning in syllabus."
Nikhil blinked slowly, rubbing his eyes. It was too early for an Anuj-style meltdown. He didn't reply—just gave a noncommittal hum and wandered toward the bathroom to get ready.
By 12:45, he was done. Dressed in formal clothes, as the instructions had said. Unlike Anuj, he hadn't bothered to fold the apron neatly—the white coat lay on his bed in a vaguely lumpy heap.
Just as he was pulling on his shoes, his phone vibrated in his pocket—for the third time that morning. He pulled it out. The screen lit up with an incoming call, labelled Father.
For a moment, he just stared at it. His hands stilled, his posture going rigid. The phone kept ringing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anuj glance up, then quickly look away.
The ringing stopped. Not even a minute later, it started again. Same caller.
With a sigh—more annoyed than anything—he swiped to answer and pressed the phone to his ear, stepping out of the room.
"Yeah? What is it?"
The man on the other side said something. Nikhil rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. The room is fine. The college is… picturesque."
Another response. Nikhil's jaw tightened. "It's fine. You didn't need to tell the driver to stay in the city. I could've called an Uber if I needed anything. I can do things on my own."
He kept walking, out of the hostel block. Beside it, the basketball court shimmered wet under the faint drizzle. The rain had stopped by now, leaving puddles that mirrored the heavy, grey sky. It was quiet—the kind of quiet that comes after rain, when even the air feels freshly washed.
"I'm like this because it wasn't my decision," he said finally, voice low but sharp. His face had lost all trace of its usual charm, replaced with something colder. His gaze dropped to his reflection rippling in one of the puddles.
"You can't just—no, that's not the point. I'm not being 'difficult' for the sake of it. The point is, you didn't even ask. You never do."
The voice on the other end said something—something that clearly wasn't the right thing to say.
Nikhil's expression soured. "No, don't start that now. You didn't ask. You decided things for me—before I even knew what anything was. My opinion only matters to you when it matches what you've already planned."
The conversation slipped into the familiar spiral—clipped sentences, passive-aggressive barbs, the same weary frustration looping in circles. It was the rhythm of most of their talks. He said something; his father countered; neither listened.
By the time Nikhil realized how quiet the hostel area had become, it was already too late. His breath caught. A glance at his watch broke the fog in his head.
1:30 p.m.
"Shit!" he hissed, cutting off whatever his father was saying. "I'm late! I have to go."
He didn't wait for a reply. Didn't say goodbye. He hung up, breaking into a sprint before he even shoved the phone into his pocket.
He dashed back toward his room, shoes splashing through wet patches on the ground. The corridors were empty—of course they were, everyone else had already left for the auditorium. His breath came in sharp bursts, the echo of his footsteps filling the silence.
He burst into his room, snatched the wrinkled white coat off his bed, and bolted for the stairs—heart hammering, rain-slick air clinging to his skin.