The evening settled over the hostel room, painting the concrete walls in shades of grey.

  I was sitting on my bed, still in the delicate pink Anarkali, but the joy it had given me this morning was completely gone. The torn pieces of the mentorship letter lay crumpled on my desk, a jagged reminder of my humiliation.

  I felt the familiar, suffocating pressure return—the feeling that everything, for me, had to be a struggle. Why was it that every step toward my dream had to be met with such hardship?

  I was close to tears when the door burst open and Jenny rushed in, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “Shrishti! You won’t believe what Meera gave me!”

  She practically danced over to my bed, holding out a neat stack of bound papers—last year’s cheat sheets, perfectly organized and highlighted.

  “She is a lifesaver! These are the secret cheat sheets for Finance 101. She promised to meet us next week for a study session and said she’ll introduce us to the best seniors for other subjects, too.”

  Jenny was glowing, radiating the easy success and camaraderie that seemed to flow to her effortlessly.

  Watching her, a sudden, heavy wave of self-pity washed over me. I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes; the contrast between her good fortune and my sudden, crushing failure was too sharp to bear.

  Jenny finally noticed my silence. She stopped mid-sentence, her smile fading as she took in my slumped posture and the unusual stillness of my expression.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice instantly dropping its cheerful tone. “You look like you’ve been through a war. Did you find Aditya?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The name was like a trigger. The well of emotion I was holding back spilled over, and my voice cracked. “I found him, Jenny.”

  I told her everything: the silent power on the football field, the chilling authority of his gaze, the public humiliation, and the cruel finality of him tearing up the letter and throwing it at me. As the story spilled out, I fought hard to keep the tears from falling, my hands gripping the edge of my blanket.

  Jenny listened, her face transforming from concern to shock, and finally, to white-hot anger.

  “He did what?!” she roared, her voice echoing off the walls.

  She snatched the crumpled papers from the desk and smoothed them out, her fingers trembling.

  “The sheer audacity! Who does he think he is? This is a college, not his personal fiefdom!”

  Her fury on my behalf was a revelation. Back home, anger was quiet, buried, and polite. Jenny’s anger was loud, righteous, and completely focused on defending me.

  She marched over and swept the pieces of the torn letter into the dustbin with a decisive flourish.

  “Forget him, Shrishti. Forget Aditya Singhania exists. He’s obviously an arrogant jerk with a fragile ego. Probably threatened by anyone who looks like they might actually be a decent human being.”

  She sat down next to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder, a gesture of fierce, protective solidarity that warmed me more than any polite word could have.

  “Listen to me,” she said, her voice firm.

  “We don’t need the mentorship program. We have Meera, and she’s a hundred times better than some overgrown footballer. You don’t have to face any hardship alone anymore. We’ll get through this. With Meera’s notes and my incredible charm, and your absolute brilliance, we’re going to get the best grades in this whole bloody institute.”

  She tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet her determined gaze.

  “And that Aditya? We won't even spare a glance at him. He’s going to be invisible to us. He tried to crush your start? Fine. We’ll use that anger, Shrishti. We’ll study so hard we’ll embarrass him in every single class. We will prove him wrong.”

  Her words were a balm to my wounded pride and a rocket fuel to my flagging resolve. The humiliation hadn't vanished, but the crushing weight of isolation had lifted. With Jenny beside me, armed with notes and fiery indignation, the vastness of Mumbai suddenly felt manageable. I managed a shaky, grateful smile.

  “Thank you, Jenny,” I whispered.