Anuj leaned closer. "There's a bunch of rules — but the most important is the greeting. Chin to sternum." He demonstrated awkwardly, bowing his head until his chin nearly touched his chest.
Nikhil blinked, unimpressed. "That's just a very dramatic way to develop cervical pain."
Anuj groaned, throwing his hands up. "You're not taking it seriously!"
"I am!" Nikhil said, mock-defensive, eyes glinting with laughter. "Now we're not even allowed to voice medical concerns in a medical college?"
"Please," Anuj whispered urgently. "You can't look them in the eye. That's rule number one. If you do, they'll target you. You'll be doomed."
Nikhil paused, taking in his roommate's sheer misery. The grin lingered, but it softened — curiosity flickering beneath the humour. "You're joking."
"You wish," Anuj said miserably. "And that's not even the worst of it. We're not allowed to go to the on-campus cafés, the gym, or the sports courts. No bicycles, no swimming pool — and the library too. We're basically confined to our classes and the hostel block."
Nikhil let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "That's ridiculous. What are they going to do, post guards at the café entrances?" He mimicked a pompous voice, "Oh, you dared to buy coffee as a first year? To the stake you go!"
Anuj gave him a pained look. "Not guards, obviously. It's not an official rule — it's a senior thing. But they will single you out. I heard someone went there — maybe by mistake, or to test them — and they humiliated him so much he left without finishing his coffee."
"Now that's a waste of good coffee," Nikhil said dryly, though his eyes glimmered with interest. He still didn't take it seriously — but he was listening now.
Anuj, encouraged, kept going. "Oh! And the most important thing — seniors don't tell you their names. Ever. You're supposed to find out on your own. Whatever that means."
Nikhil stared, incredulous. "Are they expecting us to raid the archives or something?"
"I don't know!" Anuj groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "And then there's this other thing — we have to find out our 'room baap.'"
"…The what now."
"Our room baap. It means—the one who occupied this room before us," Anuj explained solemnly, as if reciting an ancient prophecy. "They're kind of like… our pre-assigned seniors here. We have to find both of their names as a top priority. They can visit us any time, and we must have their names ready. Our survival depends on them—if they're chill with us, consider it the greatest gift from God. But if they're not, or if we somehow pick a fight with them…"
His voice widened with fear as he made a slashing motion across his neck. "Basically, they're the ones who'll rag us the most. Or, either help us the most," he finished his rant with a small sigh of misery.
Nikhil, who had at some point started unpacking and was mid-way through closing his suitcase, paused. He looked at Anuj, a smirk spreading on his face—unrepentant and amused. It was the expression of a man who had just been told the most elaborate, ridiculous fairytale of his life and was now expected to act like he believed it.
"Anuj, my man," he said, shaking his head. "You need to relax. This all—this has to be an exaggeration. Maybe because you heard it through so many mouths it's been dramatized to an exorbitant degree. No one has time for all this. They're seniors. Don't they have, I don't know—better things to do? Clinical postings, classes? I'd assume they're quite busy to play dictator."
"I don't know about that—but all I told you is true," Anuj stressed, his voice filled with grave importance. "I heard some of them are really pressed about it. We'll be lucky if ours are easy-going. But no one's come here yet, so I haven't met them. Most of the guys haven't met theirs either—except a few—but I'm still worried—" he rambled on.
But Nikhil had already turned his back, moving to inspect the wardrobe with a critical eye. The brief intrigue that had flickered across his face disappeared just as quickly as it came.
"Sounds like a bunch of pointless drama to me," he said lightly. "What is this—a TV serial with us as the poor innocent daughter-in-law and the seniors the overbearing evil mothr in law we must obey for approval?"
Anuj sighed deeply, exasperated. "Their approval matters, Nikhil! They're the ones who are going to help us in exams! Who do you think will give you markings and teach you how to write answers? They'll only do that if they approve of us!"
Nikhil rolled his eyes the moment Anuj's back was turned. "You know that information is available on like—a hundred YouTube channels and Telegram groups, right? What's important isn't specific to any one college. And besides—" he stretched lazily, shutting the wardrobe door with his foot, "I doubt any of this is that deep. It'll blow over in a week or so."
He turned back to the other, light catching in his hazel-green eyes. "Now—where's the nearest place to get decent coffee which isn't on the forbidden list? Because I need a caffeine fix after that long drive and all this doomsday nonsense."
Anuj stared at him in dawning horror.
This was his reality now. This was going to be his reality for the next five and a half years. He was stuck with a roommate who clearly had a death wish—all wrapped up in a six-foot-one package of sunny, blissful ignorance and an unholy desire to do exactly what was forbidden.
Outside, the sun shone brightly over the college lawns, the light bouncing off hostel windows and dust motes in lazy spirals. And directly above Room 31, in Room 131, a certain senior sat on his bed, utterly unaware of the six-foot-one storm about to walk into his life.
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AN: Reminder none of this is dramaticized these are all actual irl things in my college. fortunately our room mata (like the room predecessor in girls) was pretty chill so.