I stood by the window for a long time after Dadu left, watching the tiny toy cars and distant skyscrapers of Mumbai. The heavy metal trunk, holding all my possessions and all my promises, sat untouched on the floor. I felt utterly alone, yet intensely excited.

  I finally pulled myself away from the view, realizing I needed to unpack before the light faded. Just as I wrestled with the stiff latch of the old trunk, there was a sharp, cheerful knock on the door.

  “Come in!” I called out, my voice sounding small in the empty room.

  The door swung open, and the sight of my new roommate was an instant study in contrast. She was wearing a simple, tailored indigo kurta with white leggings—a clear step up in modernity from my Jodhpur cottons—and carrying an expensive-looking, bright red backpack. Her most striking feature was a pair of large, black-rimmed spectacles that framed intelligent, curious eyes. She was slim, her hair pulled back into a messy but deliberate bun, and she radiated an aura of focused intensity. She definitely looked studious, but there was nothing timid about her.

  She took one look at me—my pink salwar kameez, my one massive trunk, my slightly wide-eyed expression—and her lips curved into a warm, genuine smile.

  “Hi!” she said, her voice bright and quick, carrying a distinct, confident cadence. “I’m Jenny. I’m from Delhi. Sorry I’m late; traffic near the airport was a nightmare.”

  I immediately relaxed. Her energy was infectious. “Hello, Jenny. I am Shrishti Verma. Please come in.”

  She breezed into the room, dropping her backpack with a soft thud. “Wow, you beat me to the unpacking war,” she joked, gesturing to my trunk. “I’ve already decided I’m taking the bed near the window. Hope that’s okay?”

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  “Of course,” I said, feeling a smile naturally forming on my face. “I don’t mind. I am just starting, actually.”

  Jenny plopped down onto the other bed and stretched her arms above her head with a groan. “God, I’m exhausted. But so happy to be here! This place is going to be insane.” She turned to me, her expression instantly friendly and engaging. “So, Shrishti, where are you from? Your Hindi has a very sweet sound to it.”

  “Jodhpur,” I replied, feeling a little self-conscious. “It is… quite a different city from Delhi, I think.”

  Jenny’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Oh, wow! Rajasthan. Very traditional, right? That’s so cool. I’m from South Delhi, a completely different world. My parents were actually super keen on me studying in the US, but I told them, ‘No thanks, I want the chaos and the energy of Mumbai first.’”

  Her casual mention of "the US" and her easy, opinionated manner were things I only read about in magazines. Yet, she wasn't intimidating. She was just… open.

  “I only came here for the studies,” I admitted, trying to match her easy confidence. “It was a big thing for my family for me to leave home at all.”

  Jenny immediately picked up on the hidden meaning. She didn’t pry, but she understood. “Tell me about it. Family drama is universal. But hey, we’re here now! Two years of freedom and finance textbooks.” She hopped off the bed and extended her hand to me. “So, roommates and study buddies?”

  I took her hand. Her grip was firm and sure. In her eyes, I saw no judgment, only acceptance and the anticipation of shared adventure. The connection was instant, a spark of mutual relief. In this impersonal hostel room, I had found my first friend in Mumbai.

  “Friends,” I affirmed, feeling a genuine lightness in my heart. “And study buddies.”

  Jenny grinned, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “Fantastic. Now, let’s tackle that monster trunk. We need to look presentable for tomorrow’s orientation. By the way, is your entire wardrobe just... pink?”

  I laughed, a sound I hadn't realized I was holding back. “Mostly,” I admitted, suddenly less afraid of the fact.