A few days later, I was back in Mumbai, standing once again inside the familiar chaos of my college corridors. My final semester had officially begun, and with it came the kind of exhaustion that seeped into bones before the work even started. This wasn't just another term—it was the last stretch, the one everyone warned you about, the one that demanded everything and gave nothing back in return.
Life quickly became a blur of submissions, deadlines, and something ominously referred to as black books. Every corner of the campus felt occupied by stressed students clutching files like lifelines. The library became our second home, the silent witness to collective breakdowns and half-finished dreams.
Going out was no longer a thing. Free time was a myth. Either we were hunched over tables, scribbling furiously into black books, or crowded together in corners, arguing over assignments no one wanted to do. Rohan, Nandini, Harsh, and I were fighting for our lives—academically and emotionally.
I had done the least work, and I knew it. Rohan, on the other hand, hadn't even started. The two of us were the loudest sufferers, crying dramatically at every inconvenience, convinced the universe had personally chosen us as its victims. Every minor setback felt like a tragedy.
Rohan stared at his black book like it had personally betrayed him, his eyes narrowing as if the pages were mocking him. He leaned forward and tapped the cover once.
"I think my black book is judging me," he said quietly, deeply offended.
I didn't even look up from my notebook, my pen hovering uselessly over the page. I let out a tired sigh."Same," I muttered. "Mine looks at me like I made promises and then disappeared."
Suddenly, Nandini slammed her pen down on the table, the sharp sound echoing through the library. She stared at the pile of pages in front of her in horror."WHY does this have so many pages?" she cried. "Who decided this was necessary for a degree?"
Harsh closed his eyes for a second, clearly trying to summon patience from somewhere deep within his soul. He spoke slowly, like he was calming children."Relax," he said. "Panic won't write your documentation."
"Neither will motivation," I replied instantly, not missing a beat. I stared at my page like it might magically fill itself."I've tried both. Multiple times. Neither works."
Rohan leaned back in his chair with dramatic confidence, folding his arms like he had life figured out. "I swear," he announced, "I'll start from tomorrow."
Anushka's head snapped up so fast it was almost aggressive. She stared at him with pure disbelief."Rohan," she said flatly, "tomorrow doesn't exist in your calendar."
He clutched his chest in mock pain, eyes wide."Please don't emotionally attack me," he pleaded. "I'm already suffering."
"Emotionally?" Anushka scoffed, rubbing her temples."I'm being generous. You should be expelled for vibes alone."
I finally glanced down at my work and swallowed hard."I've written exactly three pages," I admitted quietly, like a confession.
Nandini gasped loudly and turned toward me in shock."THREE?" she shouted. "I wrote the index and felt accomplished."
Anushka leaned back in her chair, clearly reconsidering every friendship choice she'd ever made."You people don't deserve degrees," she muttered. "You deserve therapy."
Daksh, who had been quietly working the entire time, finally looked up from his almost-complete black book. His voice was calm—irritatingly so."Guys," he said gently, "relax. It's manageable if you plan it properly."
I immediately shot him a look sharp enough to shut him up."Daksh," I said flatly, "you're done. You don't get to speak."
He smiled, completely unfazed, closing his book."Fair," he agreed.
Days passed like this—half-written pages, dramatic breakdowns, and Anushka yelling while simultaneously fixing our mess. Daksh and Saumya stayed mostly calm, already ahead, occasionally helping while watching the chaos unfold like spectators.
Then came the external viva exams.
Panic arrived before the professors did.
We sat outside the lab, files clutched tightly in our hands, pretending to revise while actually spiraling internally. I kept flipping pages without reading a single word, Rohan stared at the wall like it might give him answers, and Nandini whispered prayers to every possible god she could think of.
Inside, the experience was worse.
I tried recalling what I was supposed to study and failed miserably.
"What are we supposed to study?" I whispered.
Rohan nodded seriously. "Yes."
Nandini looked horrified. "I don't even remember our project title."
"Same," I said. "But confidently."
Harsh tried to reason. "Just explain what you did."
I blinked. "Bold of you to assume I know what I did."
"STOP PANICKING," Anushka hissed.
"I'm not panicking," Rohan replied. "I'm dying quietly."
Daksh intervened gently. "They usually ask basics."
"I don't know basics," I whispered.
Nandini clutched her file. "If they ask why we chose this topic?"
Rohan nodded. "Say destiny."
"Say requirement analysis, idiot," Anushka snapped.
I sighed. "If I faint, take my black book and run."
Harsh smiled weakly. "You'll be fine."
"That sounded like a lie," I muttered.
When the questions started, I spoke with confidence but very little logic, connecting points that didn't exist and hoping the examiner wouldn't notice. Rohan nodded along to questions he didn't understand, answering with words he had heard before but never fully learned. Nandini tried to explain her project flow, only to lose track halfway and restart twice, each time sounding less sure than before.
From outside, Daksh, Saumya, and Anushka could tell exactly how it was going. The silence inside the room stretched uncomfortably long, broken only by hesitant voices and the occasional sigh of an examiner. Harsh stood near the door, ready to encourage us the moment we came out.
When I finally walked out, my face said everything. I looked like someone who had survived a storm without understanding how. Rohan followed, declaring the viva a personal attack, while Nandini immediately started overthinking every answer she had given. Anushka shook her head, already scolding us for not preparing, even as she handed us water and tried to ground us.
The next two days went no differently. Each viva felt like emotional torture for the unprepared trio, while Daksh, Saumya, and Anushka walked out calmer, relieved that preparation had actually paid off. By the third day, I had stopped panicking and started surrendering, answering whatever came to my mind and hoping for mercy.
When it finally ended, there was no celebration—only exhaustion. We sat together in silence, drained, knowing the worst was over but also aware that survival, not excellence, was the best outcome we could claim.
Three days of vivas later, exhaustion replaced panic. But there was no break. Black book submissions and project showcasing waited patiently to deliver the final blow.
Project showcasing day arrived dressed as a nightmare none of us had invited.
The lab was crowded, projects neatly arranged on tables, and professors moving around with clipboards like silent judges. I already felt cursed. I adjusted my file again and again, my eyes darting toward the entrance every time a professor walked past.
Rohan stood beside me, trying to look confident while mentally preparing for disaster. Nandini kept rehearsing her explanation under her breath, mixing up points she had practiced only once the previous night. The universe, clearly not done with us yet, decided to strike in the form of our project in-charge walking straight toward our table.
The moment the questioning began, everything unraveled.
I explained my module, but halfway through, I realized I had skipped a major component. I tried to recover, only to dig myself deeper into confusion. Rohan jumped in to help, confidently explaining a feature that didn't exist in our project. Nandini attempted damage control, flipping through the black book in panic, her hands shaking just enough to make it obvious.
The professors exchanged looks—the kind that felt heavier than scolding. Every pause felt like an accusation. Every correction felt like humiliation. The marking seemed slow, deliberate, almost cruel, as if time itself wanted to stretch our suffering.
From a distance, Anushka watched with clenched fists, knowing exactly how badly it was going. Harsh kept whispering reassurances that no one believed anymore. Daksh stood quietly, his expression unreadable, wishing he could somehow step in and save us even though he knew he couldn't.
When the professors finally moved on, the relief didn't come immediately. Instead, there was embarrassment, frustration, and the sting of knowing we could have done better. I felt hollow, like the last ounce of energy had been drained out of me. Rohan cursed his luck, Nandini blamed the universe, and for once, no one argued back.
We stood there in silence, staring at the project that had caused us so much stress, realizing that this was what our final semester looked like—messy, imperfect, and painfully real.
It wasn't the ending I had imagined, but it was ours, and it marked the beginning of something else I wasn't ready to name yet.
Later that evening, I sat alone on the college steps, staring at nothing in particular. My mind was loud, but my body felt numb. That's when Daksh found me.
He didn't sit beside me immediately. He just stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed somewhere far ahead, as if gathering courage that had been slipping away from him for months.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said softly, his voice quieter than usual.
I nodded, my heart already sinking. I didn't look at him at first. Some part of me had known this conversation was waiting for us—patient and inevitable.
"I've been holding this in for a long time," Daksh continued, exhaling slowly. "I didn't want to complicate things… or make it awkward. But I can't carry it with me anymore." He paused, then looked at me. "I like you. More than I should. And I needed you to hear it from me—once, honestly."
My chest tightened, the words pressing against my ribs. I finally turned toward him, my eyes gentle but unwavering. "Daksh… you matter to me. You always have. But I don't feel what you feel."
The silence that followed was heavy, unforgiving. He swallowed hard, nodding to himself like he'd been preparing for this answer all along. "I figured," he said quietly. "Still… knowing doesn't make it hurt any less."
"I know," I whispered, my voice breaking slightly. "That's why I stayed quiet for so long. I didn't want to be careless with your feelings. But pretending would've been cruel."
He looked down, a faint, almost sad smile touching his lips. "You're right. I just needed to say it once. For myself."
We sat there in silence—the kind that didn't demand words but still hurt all the same. The noise of college faded into the background, leaving only the weight of something ending and something changing.
"Can we still be friends?" Daksh asked finally, his voice barely steady, almost afraid of the answer.
I didn't hesitate. I shook my head gently and reached out, resting my hand near his. "I don't want to lose you. Not like this."
He looked at me then and smiled—a smile that carried acceptance, disappointment, and respect all at once. "Then friends it is," he said softly.
Something shifted between us in that moment. Not shattered, not ruined—just rearranged. Some feelings were laid to rest, and in their place, understanding quietly remained.
Final exams arrived quietly, like a storm everyone knew was coming but still wasn't ready for. I felt it in the air, in the way conversations grew shorter and breaths heavier.
Every single day turned into controlled chaos. Rohan, Nandini, and I rotated between panic, denial, and dramatic breakdowns. One moment we were crying over textbooks, the next we were convinced we knew absolutely nothing. The library saw more of us than our own rooms did.
Harsh and Saumya stayed constant, offering encouragement and coffee like survival supplies. They repeated the same reassurances every day—you've studied enough, you'll be fine—even when they themselves looked exhausted. Anushka, meanwhile, showed love in her own violent way, roasting us without mercy, insulting our intelligence while simultaneously dragging us back to our notes.
Daksh tried to keep everyone grounded, reminding us to stop spiraling and focus on the basics. But I noticed the change. His voice was softer, his presence a little distant, careful. He wasn't unkind—just guarded.
I noticed.I understood.And I accepted it, because sometimes space was kinder than closeness.
When the final exam ended, relief didn't explode—it slowly seeped in. Like air returning to lungs after being held too long. And then came the announcement of prom night, our farewell. One last pause before life scattered us in different directions.
The group decided to go together, almost instinctively. Rohan and Nandini, chaotic as ever. Harsh and Anushka—much to everyone's shock—arrived together, still bickering but smiling more than they realized. When Daksh asked me to go with him one last time, I hesitated only briefly. I agreed, but gently insisted Saumya join us too. No one should feel left behind on a night like this.
Prom night felt unreal. The lights were softer, the music louder, the laughter freer. We danced like nothing else mattered, clicked too many pictures, and held onto moments we didn't yet know we would miss desperately. For a few hours, exams, deadlines, and unspoken emotions didn't exist.
Later that night, still dressed in our best, we went to the beach. Shoes abandoned, feet in the sand, sitting close in a messy circle. The sea listened as we talked—about memories, inside jokes, future plans that sounded both exciting and terrifying.
The beach grew quieter as the night stretched on. The laughter around me softened, conversations fading into half-finished sentences. The waves brushed the shore again and again, like they were trying to remember us.
I sat with my knees pulled close, staring at the water. College was over. Just like that. All the chaos, the panic, the friendships I thought would last forever—it all slipped into memory without asking me if I was ready.
Around me, the group existed in fragments. Rohan laughed too loudly at something unimportant. Nandini leaned into him, tired but smiling. Harsh and Anushka argued softly, like that was the only language they understood. Saumya sat quietly, lost in her thoughts. Daksh sat a little away from me—not far, just enough to respect the space we hadn't spoken about.
And somehow, I was okay with that.
This chapter of my life didn't end with answers or certainty. It ended with understanding. With acceptance. With the quiet realization that not every bond was meant to turn into something more—and that didn't make it any less meaningful.
When we finally stood up to leave, no one said goodbye properly. No dramatic speeches. No repeated promises. Just lingering looks, tired smiles, and the unspoken knowledge that things were about to change.
As I walked away from the beach, sand clinging to my feet, I didn't feel empty.
I felt ready.
Ready for unfamiliar cities. For people I hadn't met yet. For connections that would arrive when I least expected them—slow, steady, and real.
Somewhere ahead, chaos was waiting to meet calm.
And this time, I would let it.
Graduation didn't end with perfection. It ended with chaos, noise, tears, laughter, unfinished sentences, and full hearts. Just like their college life had been.
And this was the end of one chapter of my life—
messy, emotional, unforgettable.