Reva woke up to shouting.
"Reva!"
The voice cut through her sleep like a scalpel. She groaned, turning her face away from the light spilling through the curtains, burrowing deeper into the half-conscious comfort of the chair she had fallen asleep in.
"Reva Sharma, if you don't wake up right now, you're going to be late for your exam!"
The word exam struck something sharp inside her head.
Her eyes flew open.
She was slumped over her study table, cheek pressed against an open notebook filled with cramped handwriting and half-underlined headings. A thin line of drool had soaked into the corner of the page. Her neck ached, stiff from being bent at an unnatural angle for hours, and her mouth felt dry, like she had swallowed dust. Loose sheets of paper lay scattered across the table, mingling with textbooks, pens, and an empty mug that had once held coffee.
Reva sucked in a breath and jerked upright so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"What time is it?" she croaked.
Myra stood in the doorway, arms crossed, hair tied neatly back, fully awake in a way Reva deeply resented. "Too late for this drama," she said. "You've got forty minutes. Maybe less."
Forty minutes.
Reva looked at the clock.
Her stomach dropped.
"Oh no, no, no—" She shot to her feet, nearly knocking over a stack of books, and sprinted toward the bathroom, barely hearing Myra's sigh behind her.
The mirror reflected a disaster. Dark circles under her eyes, hair sticking out in all directions, a faint ink smudge near her cheek she didn't have time to question. She splashed cold water on her face, wincing at the shock, forcing her brain into motion. Thoughts raced ahead of her hands. Notes unfinished. Topics half-revised. That one question she never quite understood.
She shoved the panic down. Panic wasted time.
Ten minutes later, she was dressed, hair tied into a hurried ponytail, bag slung over one shoulder. She rushed out of her room and down the stairs two at a time, her foot slipping on the last step.
"Reva!"
Her mother's voice snapped through the house.
Reva grabbed the railing just in time, heart pounding. "I'm fine," she called back, breathless, though she wasn't sure if that was entirely true.
Savitri Sharma stood near the small prayer space in the living room, hands folded, her expression composed but sharp-eyed. Beside her, Aarav sat cross-legged, participating in a havan. The fire flickered softly, its warmth spreading through the room, the scent of incense heavy in the air.
The contrast struck Reva immediately. Her own morning had been chaos, noise, and panic. This corner of the house was still, disciplined, sacred.
She slowed her steps.
Aarav's eyes were red, his brows pinched together in concentration as he repeated the mantras under his breath. He looked smaller than usual, less annoying, less smug. Nervous.
Reva tilted her head. "What's the occasion?"
Aarav glanced up, hesitation flickering across his face. "Boards results are coming."
Reva blinked.
Then she laughed. It slipped out of her before she could stop it, light and instinctive, the kind of laugh she used to deflect tension without even realizing it.
A sharp look from her mother sliced through the air.
Reva shut her mouth immediately, biting back the rest of the laugh. She pressed her lips together and raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry," she muttered.
Savitri said nothing, but the disappointment sat there, quiet and heavy. Reva felt it settle in her chest anyway.
She adjusted her bag and moved away from the prayer space, careful not to disturb the calm further. At the dining table, her father sat with the newspaper spread open in front of him, glasses perched low on his nose, a cup of tea cooling beside his elbow.
"Good morning, Papa," Reva said, forcing brightness into her voice.
He glanced up at her, eyes lingering for a second longer than usual. Long enough for her to wonder what he saw. Exhaustion. Carelessness. Potential slipping.
"Good morning," he replied.
She hesitated, then rushed ahead before she could second-guess herself. "Can you drop me to college? I'll be late otherwise."
He sighed softly, folding the newspaper with practiced ease. "As usual."
There was no accusation in his tone. No irritation. Just acceptance. And somehow, that hurt more.
Relief washed over her anyway.
"Thank you," she said quickly, already moving toward the door, shoes half-worn, heart still racing.
As she stepped outside, the morning air hit her face, cool and grounding. For a moment, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, steadying herself.
Another exam. Another test. Another chance to prove she was worthy of the name she carried.
Reva straightened her shoulders.
She couldn't afford to fall behind.
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