The next morning, I was more prepared.
Pens, hall ticket, water bottle—everything checked twice. The borrowed watch, though, was gone. I'd already told my friend I lost it and promised I would repay him with my next month's pocket money.
With that small guilt sitting in the back of my mind, I walked into the exam center and took the same seat as yesterday. The room felt oddly familiar now—the faint scent of chalk dust, the creak of the wooden benches, the slow hum of the ceiling fan.
I was staring at the blackboard, trying to calm my thoughts before the exam, when a voice broke through.
"You forgot this yesterday."
I turned. The girl sitting beside me was holding out my watch—the very one I thought I'd never see again.
I let out a small breath of relief.
"Thank you," I said, taking the watch from her hands as if it were some precious relic.
Inside, I was thanking not just her, but God Himself for saving my next month's pocket money.
I was about to say something more—maybe even muster the courage to invite her for a small treat after the exam, my version of a heroic 'thank you'—but the sharp voice of the invigilator cut through the room like a chalk snap.
"Silence. The exam is about to begin."
The moment was gone, stolen before it could even bloom.
I shook off the thought and focused on the paper. My pen moved quickly—maybe too quickly. Before I knew it, I had raced through every question. Twenty minutes still remained.
I leaned back, letting the fan's sluggish breeze brush against my face, and casually glanced to my side.
She was still bent over her paper, completely absorbed, the tip of her pen dancing across the pages. Strands of hair had slipped over her cheek, and she didn't seem to notice.
I found myself waiting—not for the invigilator to announce the end, but for her to finish, so I could finally say what I didn't get to earlier.
The seconds dragged like reluctant footsteps.
The wall clock ticked on, each second louder than it had any right to be.
I glanced at her again. Still writing. Still not looking up.
Maybe she didn't even remember I was here.
Finally, the invigilator's voice broke the silence.
"Time's up. Stop writing."
Pens dropped, papers shuffled, and the room filled with the rustle of answer sheets being collected.
She closed her booklet slowly, almost reluctantly, and placed it neatly on the desk. As the invigilator passed by, I caught her eye. This was it.
I leaned slightly toward her. "Hey, so—"
But before the sentence could fully escape my mouth, another student bumped into me while leaving, and the moment dissolved into the chaotic shuffle of bodies moving toward the door.
We stepped out into the sunlight together.
The campus outside was buzzing—students chattering about the paper, some smiling with relief, others groaning in defeat. I kept walking beside her, waiting for the noise to thin so I could speak.
She turned her head toward me, a faint smile on her lips. "You were going to say something before the exam started."
My heart skipped—not from nerves, but from the fact that she remembered.
I grinned. "Yeah. How do you feel about biryani?"
She smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Not biriyani."
I froze for a second. In hindsight, it was ridiculous—what kind of guy offers biriyani to a girl he's just met? At the time, it seemed like a grand gesture, but now it just felt… foolish.
"But coffee is fine," she added with a small laugh, glancing toward the road. "My bus will come in a bit. I have to go back to my hostel."
"Oh, you also live in a hostel? Me too."
My voice came out more excited than I intended, but the thought of a common ground made my chest feel lighter.
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Then you already know the struggle—cold water in the mornings, tasteless food in the evenings."
I laughed. "Don't forget the mysterious 'special curry' that tastes the same every day."
"By the way, my name is Pavani," she said with a small smile. "And yours?"
"Siddharth," I replied.
We both chuckled, and in that moment the awkwardness I'd been carrying since we met melted away. I gestured toward a small café beside the bus stop. "Come on, coffee's on me."
It was a tiny place with wobbly tables and the smell of roasted beans clinging to the air. We ordered two steaming cups and sat near the window, the afternoon light through the glass painting her face in soft gold.
We sipped coffee and swapped stories about late-night gossip, the strict hostel wardens, the silent battles over bathroom queues, and the rare joy of home food during holidays.
At some point, I asked, "Where's your hometown?"
"Kurnool," she said with a light shrug.
"Vizag for me," I replied. "Guess we're not exactly neighbors."
She laughed softly. "Yeah… a little far."
There was a small pause. The sounds of other students chattering filled the space between us.
She grinned suddenly, leaning closer like she was sharing a state secret. "Actually… I sneak a phone inside the hostel. Me and my roommate bought it together. We mostly use it to call home—you know how costly the hostel phone is? One rupee per minute!" She rolled her eyes. "So… here's my number."
She scribbled it on the back of a tissue and slid it across the table.
I didn't have a mobile, so I wrote my landline number for her instead. "Call me during the holidays," I said. "I'll pick up—unless my grandfather gets there first."
She glanced at it, then looked back up at me. "Do your grandparents live with you?"
I hesitated. "No… my parents died in an accident. I live with my grandfather."
Her expression softened, but she didn't say anything right away. Instead, she tucked the paper into her bag carefully, like it mattered.
We finished our coffee, and she left to catch her bus.
Later, I met up with my friends and we headed back to our hostel. As we sprawled out in the common room, I told them, "What if we pool some money and buy a mobile? We could use it together."
They exchanged glances, grinned, and agreed.
And just like that, the plan was set in motion.