The next morning was anything but normal.
I woke up at the usual time, but everything in me felt off. My head was heavy, my chest tight, and I was irritated—for no solid reason I could point to. Yoga, which usually helped ground me, only made me more impatient today. I stretched for longer than usual, hoping I'd feel better. Instead, I lost track of time.
By the time I reached the bathroom, the queue had already started. I waited, shifting my weight from one foot to another, every tick of the clock making me more restless. Twenty minutes later, I finally got in. It was already 6:15.
I rushed through my bath, barely registering the cold splash of water. By the time I was back in the cabin, I had just about thirty minutes to get ready—and absolutely no time to revise or even glance at my notes.
A sharp wave of self-anger rose in my chest. This wasn't the plan. I was supposed to be calm, focused. Not like this—chaotic and behind schedule.
At least I had done my homework and revision the night before. I knew I wouldn't be able to focus after phone time. I'd assumed it would be filled with excited chatter about everyone's calls. Instead, a few strange, cryptic messages had shaken me more than I wanted to admit. And now, I was paying the price for letting them mess with my head.
"Drink this, you'll feel better," Shivani akka said, handing me a glass of milk. I hadn't even asked her. That one small act of kindness loosened the knot in my chest a little. I gave her a half-smile and a quiet thank-you.
She looked at me knowingly. "You're too distracted today. Is everything okay?"
I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what was wrong exactly. So I just nodded and said, "Didn't sleep well, maybe."
She didn't press further. We walked out of the hostel together at 7. I hoped a change of place might help. Maybe once I got to class, my mind would settle. Maybe the school environment would force my brain to switch on.
I needed something—anything—to work. Because right now, I was spinning out, and I had no idea how to stop it.
I reached class a few minutes early, hoping the change of place would reset something in my brain. I glanced at the timetable posted near the blackboard. Morning classes were Computer, Math, and Science. Great. All subjects that demanded focus.
I told myself I could do this.
The day started with Math. Thankfully, the first half of the period was dedicated to revising homework. I relaxed a little—I had done it the night before, before the phone call that threw me off. At least I wouldn't be caught unprepared.
The current topic was basics, and I already knew I could self-study that easily. So, I let my mind drift—not entirely, but just enough to observe patterns.
I opened the notes I had secretly started compiling yesterday. A fresh notebook page. A simple title at the top: "Unknown Caller - Investigation". It made me feel ridiculous and dramatic, but also strangely focused.
I read through the transcript of the call again. Every word. Every pause. The mystery man had hinted at knowing my past, down to details no one else should. That he, too, had been reborn. If that was true, then he had to be someone I knew in my previous life.
And not just anyone. He knew things only a close person from the past would know.
My thoughts spiraled. In my past life, adapting to this hostel had been a nightmare. I acted like a chatterbox to hide how lost I felt. Outwardly cheerful, inwardly crumbling. I didn't connect with many people. Most of the friends I made were after school, when I had already left this place behind. But the ones who were with me during school… they saw everything. The isolation. The possessiveness in friendships. The misunderstandings. The spiral of loneliness and mental strain I went through just to make it through the day.
The only people who would truly know how hard I struggled… had to be from this school.
So if this mystery man is reborn too—he must be someone from this same school.
I tapped my pen against the desk absently, the sound grounding me.
But here's where it gets more complicated. This time around, I'm different. I came here prepared. I started over, consciously holding back. I spent all the time after my rebirth, just to mentally prepare before the year began. I planned every move—down to what kind of person I wanted to be.
In my last life, I was never a leader. Not in class, not anywhere. Except for one fluke position as Social Science Secretary in 11th grade—which didn't mean much. But this time? I was already stepping up. People noticed me. I didn't waste time trying to find a best friend like I did before. I didn't chase validation. I worked on balance.
Anyone who noticed this difference, who saw the shift in me, had to be observing me closely. And they had to be here now, in the present, to compare the two versions of me.
So who knew both my lives?
My mind raced through the possible categories.
If it were someone from my bay, they could have easily dropped a chit into my cupboard or even spoken to me directly. That's the advantage of physical proximity. But this person called me. They knew my phone timing. That detail ruled out a lot of people.
Right now, only the students from this school know my exact phone timings. Even my parents found out just yesterday. The phone days vary—boys get calls on Monday and Thursday, girls on Tuesday and Friday. So unless someone's here and paying close attention, they wouldn't know I'd be available to answer on a Tuesday night.
Which narrows it down further.
They had to be from my classroom. Watching quietly. Close enough to notice changes, but distant enough not to approach directly.
I looked around. The usual hum of the math class went on. A few students solved problems on the board, while others scribbled in their notebooks.
Who could it be?
Who was paying this much attention to me? Who remembered not just who I was, but who I had become?
And why weren't they just saying it out loud?
I underlined a sentence in my notes. "Knows both the past and the present version of me."
I had to be careful. I couldn't go around asking questions without sounding insane.
But I could watch.
Observe.
The game had started, whether I liked it or not.
By the time I sorted through the layers of my thoughts, the bell for lunch had already rung. I blinked at the clock, realizing how fast the morning had slipped away. Food, even the plain kind served here, was a welcome distraction. I needed grounding.
After lunch, we returned to class for the language period. Only a few students stepped out—those who had opted for Hindi, Sanskrit, or French. The rest stayed back since Tamil happened in our own classroom.
I stood up, slinging my bag over my shoulder, when I caught Nishanth grinning from across the row.
"So… class leader, should I start calling you Miss Nila or Nila ma'am? Which one has a better ring?" he asked, voice loud enough for a couple of heads to turn.
I narrowed my eyes. "Don't think I didn't notice, Mr. Nishanth—you're the vice class leader, right? Should I start standing up and saluting you every time I see you?"
He held a hand to his heart dramatically. "Please, don't be over-dramatic."
I laughed. "Exactly my point. We both have to work together for the rest of the year. Let's not turn it into a soap opera. Keep it casual, alright?"
"Fair enough," he said, pretending to tip an invisible hat. "Have fun in your bougie French class."
"And you have fun chanting Sanskrit verses," I shot back playfully before heading out.
The French class was still finding its rhythm—half of us were new to the language, the other half were trying to act like we weren't regretting not choosing Tamil. But I liked the challenge. Besides, choosing differently this time felt like a quiet rebellion against my past life.
The rest of the afternoon passed easily—English, Social Science, and then our Self-Development class, which was less of a subject and more like group therapy disguised as personality building. It was oddly comforting.
By the time the last bell rang, I felt lighter. No phone calls. No strange mysteries to decode. Just a normal school day.
I decided to leave the whole mysterious-caller conspiracy alone for now. I'd done enough speculating. The more I poked, the more distracted I became—and it was already affecting my ability to focus. I couldn't afford that. Not now.
I needed to catch up academically, solidify my routine, and settle in. If the person wanted to contact me again, they would. And when they did—I'd be ready.
Dinner was uneventful, the food forgettable. The conversations in the bay faded into background noise as I mentally replayed the day.
I went to bed early—not out of exhaustion, but for peace. I didn't want another night of spiraling questions. I needed calm. Tomorrow, I'd start paying closer attention. If someone was watching me from the shadows, I had to stop staring at the dark and start watching what moved within it.
The game wasn't over. But tonight, I was stepping away from the board.