After school, I didn't waste a second. I rushed straight to the dorm, waving a quick bye toward the basketball court. No playtime today—not even a moment to sit and breathe. I had already told Shivani di in the morning that I'd be missing practice, so she wouldn't worry.
Even the cafeteria snack break felt like a luxury I couldn't afford. I grabbed two samosas straight from the counter, waved a thanks to the canteen aunty, and made a beeline to my bed.
When I entered, I was a bit surprised to see Harini already in the room. She usually lingered around for snacks and gossip.
"Ooo, samosas?" she said, immediately tempted. "Now I feel like going to the cafeteria."
"Can you do me a small favour while you're going?" I asked, pulling out my mini flask from the cupboard. "Can you bring some milk for me? I don't think I'll be moving from this spot anytime soon."
She smiled, taking the flask from my hand. "Sure."
I placed my samosas neatly on the small steel plate I kept in the cupboard, not even bothering to change out of my uniform. I had already packed my evening study bag and laid out my kurthi. No distractions. The mirror pasting had to begin now if I wanted it to dry in time.
I pulled out the embroidery piece and my DIY checklist. The glue, the packet of mirrors—everything was right there beside my pillow. I dipped the toothpick into glue and started with the corner motifs, carefully pressing down each tiny mirror one by one. The feeling was satisfying in a weirdly calming way, like puzzle pieces falling into place.
Harini returned just in time and plopped the flask next to me, then sat cross-legged on her bed watching me work.
"Do you think you'll finish all of this alone?" she asked, eyes wide as she saw how detailed the mirror placements were.
"I've already marked the spots in pencil. See these faint dots?" I explained, handing her a clean toothpick. "If you want, you can help. Just one row. Let me know if the glue gets too sticky."
She nodded and carefully took over the top border while I finally sat back and munched on the samosas. Warm, greasy, and oddly motivating.
As the quiet buzz of focus settled in, our dorm began filling with more voices. Mahathi entered first, then Prerna, followed by Sree Lekha and Pavani. Each of them peeked over our shoulders with growing curiosity.
"You're actually doing it?" Mahathi whispered. "I thought you were joking when you said mirror work by hand."
I grinned. "Welcome to the production house. Want to join?"
Within minutes, we had an entire assembly line forming. One person holding the dupatta taut, another applying glue, someone else pressing mirrors into place. They all took turns—ten minutes here, ten minutes there. Even Pavani, who usually avoided any 'messy' work, sat down with a cotton bud and got to it.
Time moved fast. Laughter, small talk, minor glue disasters, someone sticking a mirror to their finger instead of the fabric—everything just added to the memory. Before we knew it, the bell rang for evening self-study.
"Already?" Harini said, stretching her back.
"Don't worry," I said, wrapping the cloth gently in an old dupatta. "We'll continue after dinner."
We all packed up the materials quickly. I kept the remaining mirrors in a tiny plastic container and wiped off the glue tray.
The piece wasn't finished yet, but it had started to shine.
I didn't even bother to carry my full bag to self-study today—just a notebook, a pen, and the permission letter we got from our computer sir. There was no point pretending like I was going to concentrate on academics today. My brain was already running through to-do lists for tomorrow's backstage and magazine work.
During evening study, after everyone had settled down in class, I went to the study in-charge and showed her the formal letter requesting permission to use the computer lab. She noticed it had the project details and the staff's signature, and she allowed me to leave. She reminded me to come back before dispersal time so all the girls could go back together. I nodded and left for the computer lab.
We quietly approached the computer sir again. We explained how we needed to use the lab for two hours—just enough to set up the skeleton of our website. That way, once Freshers Day ended, we could add the photos and final few articles and present the demo version of our digital magazine to the staff. Sir agreed immediately, even a little amused by how serious we both were about it.
"I need to write a checklist," I told him, "and also draft a few short articles with the content we collected during the behind-the-scenes interviews. Some quotes from the students and a summary of what the teachers expect from the performances."
"You're working like a newsroom editor," he chuckled, but he opened the lab anyway and let us in.
Study time flew past like a blur. Nishanth and I barely noticed when the bell rang for dinner. We had so much to finalize. We sat at two systems next to each other—he was building the basic layout of the homepage, while I was typing furiously into a document with headings like "Teacher Perspectives," "Student Quotes," and "Performance Highlights."
Between all this, we also had to plan who would do what tomorrow.
"I'll be missing for maybe 15 minutes," Nishanth said, glancing at the performance list. "I'm in that group dance that comes around 7-ish."
"That's fine," I said. "I'll be backstage mostly. But before the program begins, come to the lab by 5. We'll take a picture with the computer, sir. Like a team photo. Wear ethnic if you have anything."
He raised his eyebrows. "Why ethnic?"
"Because it'll look like we actually belong to the cultural day spirit!" I said. "Come on, just give it a try."
He laughed. "Fine, fine. I'll see what I can dig out."
We even drafted a formal letter on the system, one similar to the ones we use for getting access to the computer lab. It was meant for the wardens—just in case they didn't allow us to report to the lab early tomorrow. We didn't want to take chances.
Sir read through it quickly and nodded in approval. "Write two copies—one for each of you. I'll sign both."
So we did. Two neatly printed letters, complete with project title, timing, reason for early lab use, and a line about it being done under his mentorship. He signed both and handed them back.
"Keep them safe," he said. "And good luck tomorrow. It's a lot to pull off in one evening, but I think you two can manage."
"Thank you, sir," we said in chorus.
As we walked out of the lab, the rest of the school was buzzing with preparation. Lights are being tested, stage cloths are getting pinned, and name lists are getting checked.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, we were building something quietly, without much spotlight, but with all our hearts.
After coming back from the computer lab, we all had dinner quickly and rushed to the dorm. I didn't waste a single minute and went straight to my bed to finish the last bit of mirror work. Just like last time, everyone gathered again without me even asking. It had become some kind of unspoken group ritual now—whenever I spread out the materials, they just followed.
It was a rhythm now—Mahathi held the glue, Harini aligned the mirrors, and Prerna offered opinions about symmetry and spacing like a self-declared fashion critic. Pavani helped me double-check every mirror placement before we pressed it down. Sree Lekha stood nearby giving "supervisor energy" with a plate of murukku in hand, occasionally handing one to whoever wasn't gluing at the moment. In an hour, we were done.
Around 9:30, the dupatta was finally finished. I took a step back and just stared at it. It was beautiful. We had drawn inspiration from Prerna's dress borders and added a few design elements from Pavani's dance costume. It wasn't perfect, but it looked like something out of a college fashion club's exhibition—definitely not something you'd expect from a dorm room DIY.
But now came the real challenge: drying it safely.
We couldn't just leave it on the floor or bed; the glue needed to set properly overnight. So, we started brainstorming. After a bit of chaos, Mahathi had an idea. "Let's tie it up like a clothesline—but not for clothes. A dupatta canopy!"
Soon, it became a group effort again. We took two empty laundry trolleys and wheeled them close to my bed. Then, using extra threads from our sewing kits and one of Pavani's extra curtain cords, we tied one end to the trolley handles and the other to the window grill. It looked a bit makeshift—but stable.
Carefully, we clipped the dupatta to hang across the thread line like a drying sari. It swayed gently like a curtain and sparkled every time the tube light caught the mirror pieces. The whole thing looked like a mini canopy at a wedding mandap.
We all just stood there for a second, admiring it.
"Can we keep it like this even after the program?" Prerna asked jokingly.
"Let's charge people for a darshan," Mahathi added with a grin.
We laughed—loud enough that the warden might have heard if she walked by. But no one cared. The stress of finishing it, the chaos, the teamwork—it all suddenly felt worth it. We were tired, but not the bad kind. The happy kind. The kind of tired that feels like achievement.
"Okay, girls, lights off in five minutes!" came the shout from the corridor.
We all scrambled to our beds, but no one wanted to sleep just yet. We lay there whispering, still glancing over at the sparkling dupatta hanging in the soft glow of the night light.
Tomorrow was Freshers Day. The big day.
And our little canopy was ready for it.