Chapter 5: The Last Stand

The counselor was probably stunned—she didn't reply for a long time.

The group was so silent, you could hear the mosquitoes buzzing outside. Even the usual jokers were quiet.

Two minutes later, her message popped up.

"@Arjun Kumar from Electrical Engineering What kind of attitude is this? How dare you talk to me like that?"

Her tone, even in text, was like a slap. Kabir mouthed, "Bhaiya, ab toh gaya kaam se."

I replied: "Why shouldn't I dare? I want to speak up for myself."

I even added an innocent-face emoji.

For a second, I felt like a Bollywood hero, standing up to the villain in the last scene.

"Arre—"

Kabir couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing.

His laughter was contagious, and even the youngest grinned nervously. For a moment, the tension in the room broke.

The counselor sent a voice message: "What rubbish are you talking about? I didn't approve your leave and you left anyway, and you think you're in the right? Huh? You don't accept it? You must have a face thicker than a pressure cooker! I'm telling you—whether you accept it or not, you have to accept it!"

Her voice crackled through the phone speaker, as sharp as mirchi powder in the eyes.

She's really losing it now.

I could picture her pacing in her living room, slippers slapping against the floor, maybe even scolding her own family between sending messages.

"Ma'am, as an educator, your words and actions represent not just yourself but also our college. It's not appropriate to use foul language in public."

I tried to keep my tone formal, but everyone could hear the sarcasm. Even the hostel lizard seemed to smirk.

"Don't give me that! I've never met such an arrogant student. Do you believe I'll make you drop out? If you don't want to study, just get out. Someone like you, who ignores college rules and disrespects teachers, doesn't deserve to be here—you'll never amount to anything!"

The room fell silent. Her words stung, but I kept my face blank, refusing to show any sign of fear.

"Ma'am, you're just a counselor. I don't think you actually have the authority to expel students. And isn't it a bit much for you to say I'll never succeed? Even ex-convicts have gone on to do great things."

Kabir yelled excitedly, clutching his phone: "Bhaiya, you're amazing! Go, fight her to the end!"

He started doing a fake boxing pose, making everyone laugh. For once, it felt good to have some support.

The hostel leader smacked him and said to me: "What are you thinking? Going head-to-head with the counselor won't do you any good..."

He shook his head, worry lines etched deep into his forehead. “Yeh India hai, Bhaiya, system se panga lene ka koi faida nahi.”

The counselor was probably so furious she was speechless—she didn't reply for several minutes.

Even the WhatsApp typing dots disappeared, as if the app itself needed a break.

Then: "I don't have the authority, so that's why you dare talk to me like this?"

Her words almost felt personal, like a challenge to her position.

"Not really. But a counselor has no right to stop students from attending class, graduating, or going home to see family for the last time."

I sent the message, feeling a strange peace wash over me. Sometimes, you have to draw the line.

"Fine, fine! If I don't teach you a lesson, I'm not fit to be a counselor!"

Kabir did a mock salute. The youngest ducked behind his bedsheet. The tension was back, thick as the humidity in May.

Then, I was kicked out of the group chat.

The screen flashed “You can no longer send messages to this group.” For a moment, I felt oddly liberated, like someone had finally cut the chains.