Ananya realized two things about Mumbai mornings.
One — they were loud before they were beautiful.
Two — hostel bathrooms were war zones.
At 7:12 a.m., Room 407 was already a battlefield.
"WHO USED MY FACE WASH?" Meher's voice echoed like an emergency announcement.
Pihu emerged from the bathroom with wet hair and toothpaste foam near her lips. "First of all, don't attack me before breakfast. Second of all, if your face wash was green and smelled like cucumber, then yes, but emotionally I needed it."
"That was imported!"
"So was my trauma."
Nandini quietly lifted her hand. "I only used water. And regret."
Ananya sat on her bed, tying her shoelaces, watching this like it was a live show she hadn't paid for.
Twenty-four hours ago, these girls were strangers.
This morning, they were already fighting like sisters.
Somehow… she didn't hate it.
By the time they finally stepped out, they were late, underprepared, and bonded by mutual suffering.
The hostel gate spilled them into the city.
Autos honked. Vendors shouted. Students rushed. The air smelled like wet roads and vada pav.
Riverline College stood across the street like a different world.
Wide gates. Tall trees. Banners welcoming freshers. Seniors everywhere pretending not to stare.
Ananya adjusted her bag strap and took a breath.
"This is it," Pihu announced dramatically. "The beginning of our tragic academic downfall."
Meher rolled her eyes. "Speak for yourself. I plan to be famous."
Nandini smiled faintly. "I plan to survive."
They walked in.
And suddenly, Ananya felt small in the best and worst way.
So many faces. So many voices. So many possible versions of herself.
Their first lecture was "Introduction to Media Studies."
They found four empty seats in the middle row.
The professor was still setting up, so chaos reigned.
Behind them, someone whispered, "Freshers, right?"
Meher turned slightly. Two boys were standing there.
One was tall, confident, wearing earphones around his neck, smile already prepared.
The other looked calmer. Older. Softer eyes. Holding a coffee.
"I'm Aarush," the confident one said. "Media club. Second year. We're supposed to guide you people."
"Guide us where?" Pihu asked. "Emotionally or academically?"
He laughed. "Both. Mostly emotionally."
The quieter one smiled politely. "Kabir. Sociology final year. I work at BrewPoint Café near campus."
His eyes met Ananya's for half a second.
No drama. No sparks. Just… awareness.
"Welcome to Riverline," he said.
Something about his voice made the noise fade.
Ananya nodded. "Thank you."
Aarush leaned on the desk. "So. Hostel girls?"
"Unfortunately," Meher replied. "Room 407."
Kabir's eyebrows lifted slightly. "That room has a reputation."
Pihu gasped. "Haunted?"
"Emotionally," he said.
Ananya didn't know why, but she smiled.
The lecture began.
Ananya tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting.
At the campus.
At the girls beside her.
At the way Nandini wrote notes like poetry.
At how Meher asked questions confidently.
At how Pihu whispered commentary like a live streamer.
She caught herself smiling again.
Maybe her father was right.
Mumbai did change people.
By afternoon, they were exhausted and starving.
They landed in the canteen like survivors.
Vada pav. Cold coffee. Shared fries. Loud opinions.
"This is better than hostel food already," Pihu said.
"This is oil with hope," Meher replied.
Nandini looked at Ananya. "So… what made you choose Mass Media?"
Ananya paused.
No one had really asked her that before.
"I like people," she said slowly. "Their stories. Their contradictions. I want to create something that feels… real."
Meher studied her. "You don't talk like someone who plans to stay invisible."
Ananya laughed softly. "I don't plan. I observe."
Kabir and Aarush passed by their table.
Aarush waved dramatically. Kabir only nodded.
Ananya watched them walk away.
Something was unfolding.
Friendships. Confusion. New spaces inside her.
This wasn't just college.
This was the beginning of her becoming.
That night, Room 407 sat on the floor, backs against beds, sharing chips and stories.
Pihu talked about her struggling family business.
Meher admitted she hated going home.
Nandini spoke about her fear of disappointing everyone.
They looked at Ananya.
She hesitated.
Then said, "I'm scared of becoming ordinary. Of living someone else's plan."
The room went quiet.
Not heavy.
Honest.
Meher raised her chips packet. "To not becoming quiet girls."
They all touched packets like glasses.
And Ananya felt it.
The first thread of something strong weaving into her life.