Divya Raj folded her clothes slowly, as if time would soften if she handled it gently.
The room at her aunt's house looked smaller with the cupboard half empty. The walls, once crowded with borrowed routines and quiet adjustments, were now exposed—bare in a way that made her chest feel strangely tight. This house had never been hers, not fully, but it had held her for years. And now, in a few weeks, it would hold no one at all.
Her uncle had been transferred to another city. A bigger posting. A bigger house, probably. He and her aunt were busy packing their own lives—two small children, their toys, school books, tiny socks that seemed to appear everywhere. Divya's things were fewer. Clothes. Books. Notes from medical college that carried more stress than ink. A life that could fit into two suitcases, if she tried hard enough.
She zipped one bag halfway and stopped.
She had already seen four or five places to stay. Some hostels felt too loud. Some felt too strict. A few looked decent but didn't feel right. This year mattered. Final year. Internship waiting on the other side like a question she wasn't ready to answer yet. She needed a place that would let her breathe.
Her phone rang.
Ananya.
Divya smiled before answering.
"Still packing?" Ananya asked, her voice familiar in the way only years can make it.
"Trying to," Divya said. "It's harder than I thought."
"Come to my hostel today," Ananya said easily. "Just see the room. See the place. If you like it, stay. If not, we'll keep looking."
Divya sat on the edge of the bed, phone pressed between her shoulder and ear. Ananya had been there from the beginning—from first year confusion to final year exhaustion. Not perfect. Not dramatic. Just steady. The kind of friend you didn't question.
"Okay," Divya said. "I'll come."
After the call ended, the room felt quieter.
She dialed another number.
Her mother answered from a different city, a different life. The background noise told Divya she was probably in the kitchen.
"I packed most of my things," Divya said. "I'm going to look at hostels today."
Her mother listened, asked questions, worried gently. Divya told her about the places she'd seen—how two were fine, how two didn't feel safe, how she wasn't ready to settle just anywhere.
"Don't rush," her mother said. "Find somewhere you feel okay."
They spoke briefly about her father—what he was doing, how his day had been. Ordinary things. Anchors.
After the call, Divya stood up and finished zipping the bag.
This was not a dramatic leaving. No tears. No big goodbye. Just a quiet shift from one borrowed space to another.
She looked around the room one last time.
Somewhere between packing and leaving, between being held and standing alone, Divya Raj was stepping into a year that would ask more of her than she was sure she could give.
And still—she picked up her bag and walked out.