The moment exams ended, I swear I felt my soul return from the secret Goa trip it took without asking me. Everyone around me looked like soldiers who survived a psychological war—walking out of exam halls like damaged robots, clutching their answer sheets like broken dreams. But me? I had only one mission in mind: leave. Escape. Vanish. Teleport. Anything that did not involve this campus or these traumatizing corridors.
So the moment the holiday notice came, I did the only logical thing—booked a ticket to Bhavnagar to meet Kiara. Because if life is a circus, Kiara is the ringmaster who makes even disasters look entertaining.
The very next morning, with the energy of a half-dead potato, I dragged myself onto the train. Obviously, the universe refused to let me have peace. The moment I stepped in, the coach greeted me with a smell that was suspiciously a mix of samosa, perfume, and disappointment. The fans above were spinning so slowly they looked like they were contemplating retirement. And the uncle sitting beside me? He snored like a broken water pump. Every time he inhaled, it sounded like a demon warming up before entering someone's body.
Meanwhile, the aunty in next seat kept playing old Gujarati songs that sounded like someone singing from inside a steel tiffin box. A child two seats away kept staring at me like I owed him money. And every time the train jerked, I nearly flew out of my seat and into the luggage rack like an unpaid stuntwoman.
But I still smiled, because Kiara existed at the other end.
The moment I reached Bhavnagar, I jumped off the train like a prisoner finally escaping from Tihar Jail. My legs were numb from sitting for hours, my back felt like I had aged seventy-two years, and my brain was still vibrating from the nonstop snoring of the uncle next to me. But did that stop me from being dramatic? Absolutely not.
I stepped onto the platform and flicked my hair in full Bollywood heroine style... only to realise half my hair had glued itself to my lip gloss. Instead of looking like "Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham" Poo, I looked like a goat struggling during a photoshoot. Beautiful. Elegant. Majestic.
Ignoring my own embarrassment (as usual), I pulled out my phone and dialled Kiara.
"WHERE ARE YOU?" I screeched, sounding like a mother searching for a lost toddler.
"I'm behind you, idiot," she said, with the calmness of a saint and the audacity of a sibling.
I spun around, and there she was—my personal cyclone, the human version of dramatic background music. The moment we saw each other, we ran like we were in a slow-motion Yash Raj reunion scene. Except our run wasn't slow-motion. It was full-speed chaos. We crashed into a hug so violent that a pigeon sitting nearby genuinely JUMPED, glared at us, and flew away like, "Ugh, humans."
Two aunties standing at the chai stall stared at us like they were watching a saas-bahu serial's emotional reunion. One even whispered, "I think they met after a long time". I wanted to bow and say, "Thank you, thank you, yes we are dramatic by birth," but Kiara dragged me away before I embarrassed her further.
We hauled my bag out of the station, both talking simultaneously like two over-caffeinated parrots arguing about who is more chaotic. Kiara complained about work, I complained about exams, she complained about humidity, I complained about my lip-gloss-glued hair. Basically, a perfect sister reunion.
By the time we reached her room, we were already breathless from talking, walking, and being mentally unstable.
"Okay STOP," Kiara said, flopping onto the bed like she was auditioning for a mattress commercial. "First rest. Then nonsense. Otherwise you'll faint and I'll have to explain to mom."
"Agreed," I said, dramatically throwing myself on the bed like a Victorian ghost.
And just like that, chaos paused... but only temporarily.
But we lasted exactly ten minutes.
Because of course we did. Two idiots like us? Silence is not in our genetic makeup.
Kiara suddenly sat up like a courtroom judge about to deliver a life sentence.
"So?" she said, eyes sparkling with pure chaos. "Tell me everything. College, exams, friends, trauma, betrayal, emotional damage—give me the full gossip package with extra cheese."
I dragged myself up slowly, dramatically, like a ghost rising from the dead in a low-budget horror movie.
"Fine," I said, placing a hand on my chest. "Brace yourself. This will not be normal information."
She grabbed a pillow instantly and hugged it like a seatbelt. "I was born ready."
I cleared my throat like I was about to present a TED talk titled 'Why My Life Is a Circus'.
"Let's begin," I said.
And then it started.
The rant of the century.
First came the group drama. Kiara gasped at every detail like an auntie watching a twist in a TV serial.
"Rudra and Nandini fought again?"
"Obviously," I said. "They fight the way normal people breathe."
Kiara snorted.
"Then," I continued, "Rohan had his breakdown number 377. He cried about one-mark questions AGAIN."
Kiara's jaw dropped. "He's consistent, I'll give him that."
"Consistently useless," I corrected.
She actually slapped the pillow and wheezed.
Then I moved on to the academic torture. I told her about the exams that felt like ancient rituals designed to summon depression. How the teachers acted like we had committed war crimes. How the timetable looked like something Satan himself arranged.
Kiara placed a hand over her heart.
"I am so sorry for your loss."
"It's not loss," I corrected. "It's murder. They murdered my will to live."
She cackled.
"And Nandini?" she asked.
"Oh my god." I threw my hands up. "Nandini literally forgot her OWN name after reading the syllabus. She introduced herself as '...umm...wait...who am I?'"
Kiara clutched her stomach. "STOP. I can't—my organs are hurting."
But the best, the absolute peak of entertainment, was when I told her about Anushka.
The insults.
The pure creativity.
"Bro," I began, already laughing, "Anushka saw Harsh dropping his pen and she literally said, 'Pick it up, you walnut-brained hyena.'"
Kiara SCREAMED. Not shouted. Screamed. She shoved the pillow into her face and shrieked like a pressure cooker about to explode.
"NO WAY," she said when she recovered. "No normal person comes up with that."
"There's more," I said proudly. "She told Daksh, 'You malfunctioning traffic signal.' And she called me 'a confused WiFi router searching for connection.'"
Kiara fell backward on the bed, legs kicking. "MISHA, your friends are unhinged."
"They're mine," I said, lifting my chin like I was accepting a bravery award.
"That's the problem," she muttered into the pillow.
I gasped dramatically, clutching my invisible pearls. "How DARE you insult my people?"
"They need therapy," she said.
"So do I," I replied. "We trauma-bond."
Kiara sat up again, wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks.
"I swear, spending one week with your group would give me enough entertainment for ten years."
"Welcome to my life," I said, flipping my hair like a Bollywood hero entering a fight scene.
She looked at me fondly, shaking her head.
"You're a walking sitcom."
"And proud," I replied, throwing myself back onto the bed like the dramatic queen I am.
After an entire hour of commentary that ranged from academic trauma to celebrity gossip to "why did humans invent exams," Kiara suddenly stood up with dramatic force.
"Enough," she declared. "We're going out. We're doing something stupid."
"That," I said, placing a hand on my heart, "is the most loving invitation you've ever given me."
We changed, hopped into an auto, and—like the productive, mature adults we are—argued for ten whole minutes about where to go.
"Café?" I suggested.
"Boring," Kiara said.
"Movie?"
"Too quiet. We'll get kicked out."
"Shopping?"
"Too expensive for your financially dead soul."
Rude but correct.
Finally, Kiara gasped and pointed dramatically out the auto.
"The theme park!"
I gasped too. "YES. Absolutely yes. One hundred percent yes."
Because obviously, two grown adults behaving like five-year-olds is exactly what destiny feared.
When we reached, the park was almost empty—just a few families, a suspiciously romantic couple feeding each other, and three kids staring at us like we were zoo exhibits who escaped without permission.
We walked around, clicked terrible selfies, ate cotton candy that tasted like coloured air, and judged strangers' outfits like certified fashion police with absolutely no authority.
And then I saw it.
The Slide.
The huge, tall, brightly coloured slide... that every sane person climbs from the staircase at the back.
But sanity and I are not even acquaintances.
My brain whispered: Climb it from the front.
Kiara saw my eyes widen and immediately sensed danger.
"No," she said.
"Yes," I replied.
"No. Absolutely not."
"YES."
She rubbed her forehead. "Your ancestors are watching you and uninstalling you."
I ignored her and marched toward the front of the slide with the confidence of an Olympic gymnast and the intelligence of a stale bread slice.
"Misha," Kiara whisper-yelled, "at least check the friction—"
"Friction is an illusion," I proclaimed, placing my foot on the shiny surface.
I took one step.
Then another.
Then a third.
I felt like Spider-Man.
A slippery, delusional Spider-Man with zero grip and negative IQ.
Kiara flailed. "Misha, come down! This is NOT your destiny!"
"I was BORN for this," I said, raising my arms like I was accepting an award.
And the universe said: Okay, then perish.
My foot slipped.
My soul left my body.
My balance filed a resignation letter.
Gravity hugged me like a long-lost relative.
I didn't just fall.
I BLASTED DOWN THAT SLIDE LIKE A HUMAN ROCKET ROLLED IN BUTTER.
I slid face-first.
Arms flapping like dying chickens.
Legs kicking like I was trying to swim on land.
Noises coming from my throat that were NOT human-approved.
I hit the ground with a sound that can only be described as: SPLAT-THUD-HELP-ME-MOMMY.
Three kids nearby SCREAMED with laughter.
One literally fell on his knees and pointed at me like I was a circus animal.
A woman whispered, "Oh my God."
A man dropped his popcorn in slow-motion horror.
Kiara ran toward me like she was running in a dramatic movie scene—except she saw my face, paused, stared... and BURST into the loudest laughter known to mankind.
"MISHA—OH MY GOD—YOU LOOK LIKE A FALLEN UFO—WHAT WAS THAT—YOU JUST—YOU—YOU—"
She couldn't breathe. She kept bending, hitting her knee, tears streaming down her face.
"Stop laughing," I groaned. "I think I saw God."
"No," she wheezed. "You didn't see God. God saw YOU and immediately pressed 'skip ad.'"
I dragged myself up slowly, dignity leaking out of me like water from a broken tap.
We tried leaving quietly, pretending nothing happened, but of course the children followed us... POINTING... LAUGHING... as if I had become a walking meme template.
I sighed dramatically.
"Kiara," I whispered, "I think I died."
She held my shoulder.
"You didn't die," she said. "But your reputation did."
We spent the rest of the day on safe rides where gravity couldn't ruin my life. We ate ice cream, roasted each other nonstop, and took blurry pictures to blackmail each other later.
By night, we were exhausted and dead in the best way possible.
Back home, we changed into oversized T-shirts and decided the only thing we needed now was a midnight Maggie-Sprite combination and deep emotional nonsense.
"Terrace?" Kiara said.
I smiled. "Let's go."
We made Maggie, grabbed two chilled Sprite bottles, climbed onto the terrace, and sat under the cool Bhavnagar night sky.
Lights glittered across the city. The air was soft. It felt peaceful—like the world finally shut up for a while.
Kiara nudged me. "So? Talk."
"Talk about what?" I said, fake innocent.
She raised an eyebrow. "About Daksh."
I made a dying noise. "NOT YOU TOO."
"Yes, me." She sipped her Sprite. "Now spill."
So I told her everything.
"Kiara, he's subtle," I said. "Too subtle. He does little things that make me feel warm, but not... that kind of warm. I don't think I see him as anything more than my best friend."
Kiara listened quietly, like a real therapist who didn't get paid enough to hear my rubbish.
"And it confuses me," I continued. "Sometimes he does something and I'm like—awww—and then I'm like—NO STOP THAT—LIKE ME NORMALLY—LIKE A HUMAN FRIEND."
Kiara smiled. "Misha. You don't like him that way."
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I don't. But I don't want to hurt him if he... you know... someday says something."
"Then don't lead him on," she said simply. "Be yourself. Don't act extra nice. Don't give him special treatment. If someday he talks about feelings, just be honest and gentle."
I poked my Maggie. "Why is adulting so annoying?"
"Because you are annoying," she said.
"That's rude."
"That's factual."
We laughed and continued eating, talking about everything—old family stories, friendships, things that scared us, dreams we forgot, goals we had, dumb decisions we wanted to make, future vacations, our random celebrity crushes, embarrassing moments, and things we never said aloud.
For the first time in weeks, I felt... light.
No exams.
No assignments.
No chaos.
Just Kiara.
My safe place.
Around midnight, Kiara stretched and yawned. "Okay therapist session over. I'm sleepy."
"Same," I said.
We went downstairs, washed our plates, and got ready for bed.
Right before turning off the light, Kiara said softly:
"Hey, Mish?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you're here."
I smiled. "Me too."
We lay down, tired, comfortable, and weirdly peaceful.
Because sometimes, after weeks of chaos, breakdowns, and emotional whiplash, all you need is a night with someone who knows exactly who you are, exactly how stupid you are, and still chooses to love you anyway.
With Kiara, chaos always becomes comedy.
With Kiara, pain becomes a punchline.
With Kiara, I always find my way back to myself.
And as I fell asleep, I knew one thing—
Bhavnagar was exactly where I needed to be.