Ananya Verma stood outside Hostel Block C with a suitcase in one hand, her phone in the other, and a strange, nervous excitement sitting in her chest.
Mumbai was loud behind her.
Local trains screamed somewhere in the distance. A chaiwala shouted like he was auditioning for a movie. A group of seniors laughed too freely near the gate. The air smelled like rain, dust, and fried food.
The city didn't feel real yet.
The hostel did.
Four floors. Faded cream paint. Windows filled with unknown faces. Somewhere above, someone was playing music at a volume that suggested emotional instability.
She looked down at the paper in her hand again.
Room 407.
Her mother had cried while packing.
Her father had said, "Mumbai changes people."
Her little brother had stolen her charger and blocked her number.
And now she was here.
She dragged her suitcase up the stairs because the lift had a handwritten note stuck on it:
"Out of order. So is life."
Ananya actually smiled.
By the time she reached the fourth floor, she was slightly breathless and very aware that this was the moment where stories usually begin.
She stood in front of the door.
She knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again.
The door flew open so suddenly she almost stepped back.
"PLEASE tell me you're not the warden."
The girl in front of her wore oversized shorts, a loose T-shirt, and a messy bun that looked like it had given up on life. Her eyes were wide. Her voice was dramatic.
"I just bunked orientation and if she's here then my hostel career is over—"
The girl stopped mid-sentence.
Then her face changed.
"Oh."
Pause.
"You're not scary. Come in. I like your face."
Before Ananya could process that, she was pulled inside.
The room smelled like new mattresses, room freshener, and stress.
One bed was aggressively decorated with fairy lights. One side of the room looked like a mini cosmetic store. Another bed was still untouched. Bags were open. Clothes were everywhere. Someone's Bluetooth speaker was playing soft English music.
A tall girl with sleek hair was arranging skincare products on her shelf like she was preparing for surgery.
She looked up and scanned Ananya from head to toe.
"First year?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Course?"
"Mass Media."
The girl nodded slowly. "Good. At least one interesting person."
She walked closer and held out her hand.
"Meher Kapoor. Remember the name."
Before Ananya could reply, a calmer voice spoke from the balcony.
"You don't have to remember it. She'll remind you every hour."
A girl with glasses and a book stepped in. Soft eyes. Peaceful face. Observant energy.
"I'm Nandini. Nandu," she said gently.
The dramatic girl popped up beside Ananya again.
"I'm Pihu. I talk too much, steal snacks, and emotionally support everyone."
Three strangers.
Three completely different personalities.
One small hostel room.
Ananya stood there for a second, taking them in.
And something strange happened.
She didn't feel scared.
She didn't feel out of place.
She felt… like something had just started.
She placed her suitcase down. "Hi. I'm Ananya. And I just want to set one boundary."
All three looked at her.
"Don't touch my charger."
There was silence.
Then Pihu burst out laughing.
Meher smirked.
Nandini smiled.
And just like that, the room didn't feel unfamiliar anymore.
That evening went by in chaos.
Bed selection drama.
Cupboard negotiations.
Background checks disguised as casual questions.
"So… love life?"
"So… family trauma?"
"So… what will you do if you fail?"
By night, the room was messier, louder, warmer.
Ananya sat on her bed, watching the city lights blink through the window. She could hear trains. Distant horns. Someone singing badly on another floor.
Mumbai didn't sleep.
And somehow, neither did her thoughts.
Her phone buzzed.
Mom: "Reached safely?"
Ananya typed.
"Yes. And I think Mumbai just opened a door I didn't know I was waiting for."
She put the phone aside and lay back.
Around her were three girls she hadn't known this morning.
And yet, something told her—
Some of the most important chapters of her life would start in Room 407.
She stared at the ceiling, heart quietly awake.
College hadn't even started.
But her story already had.