Chapter 6: White Kurta, Clean Conscience

The counselor called me, her voice almost hysterical, demanding I show up in her office at 9 a.m. tomorrow for a scolding.

She didn’t even wait for me to answer before rattling off her threats. The background was full of the distant noise of the morning TV news and the clanging of kitchen utensils—her irritation louder than all of it.

Normally, if anyone went to see her, she'd either glare at you or roll her eyes coldly—she's never lost her cool like this before.

Kabir mimicked her with a hand on his hip, making everyone giggle despite the tension.

I smiled and said, "No problem, Ma'am. I'll be there tomorrow morning."

I made sure my tone was light, bordering on cheerful, just to annoy her a little more.

After hanging up, Kabir asked, "Yaar, did you eat gunpowder for breakfast today or what?"

I grinned and said, “Arrey, sometimes you need a little masala, na?”

The youngest said, "Bhaiya, are you getting ready to take a leave of absence or something..."

His eyes were round with worry. “Bhaiya, kuch bhi mat karna, please!”

The hostel leader was anxious: "No need, no need—don't go that far."

He paced the room, wringing his hands, muttering, “Bhaiya, thoda chill kar, please.”

In the 200-person WhatsApp group, not a single person said a word from beginning to end.

The silence was deafening. You could almost hear the collective breath-holding across all hostels.

But I knew: tonight the stars are bright, and no one's sleeping. Everyone's glued to their phones, waiting for the drama.

It was the talk of the hostel mess, the corridors, even in the queue at the water cooler. I was trending in our own small world.

Friends on WhatsApp kept messaging me: "Arjun bhaiya, you're a legend!"

One even sent a meme with my face photoshopped onto Bhagat Singh’s poster. Even in tension, laughter finds a way in India.

Most of them had been disgusted by the counselor over leave requests before.

One message read: “Bhaiya, tu toh hum sab ka hero hai!” For a minute, it almost felt worth it.

At 9:30 the next morning, I was still lying in bed. The other three, even people from the next room, came over to see if I was planning to stand up the counselor.

Kabir shook me awake, “Bhaiya, time ho gaya! You going or not?” The youngest peeked in, hair still messy from sleep.

I said, why would I?

I stretched, letting the morning sunlight warm my face. "Aaj toh maja ayega!"

Yesterday, I only said I'd go in the morning—I never promised to be there at 9. The club secretary always checks the office at 10. It's too early to go now.

Kabir laughed, “Bhaiya, tu toh asli jugaadu nikla!”

At 9:50, the counselor called several more times. I could feel her rage had hit the ceiling.

The phone vibrated continuously, her name lighting up the screen like an emergency alert. “Bhaiya, pick up kar lo warna aur bhi gussa ho jayegi!”

"Arjun Kumar, you really don't take me seriously as your counselor. Just wait—I'll show you what I can do!"

Her voice cracked on the phone, and I could almost imagine her banging her desk in frustration.

"Don't worry, Ma'am, I've already left. I'll be there soon."

I dragged myself out of bed, taking my time to freshen up and iron my kurta. Kabir whistled as I neatly combed my hair and put on my best sandals.

Under the stunned gazes of my three roommates, I got dressed up neatly.

They looked at me as if I was preparing for my own execution. The youngest muttered, “Bhaiya, full VIP lag rahe ho.”

"Arre, Bhaiya, you..."

I winked at them, picked up my bag, and stepped out. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen. This is India, not a military camp.”

On the way, everyone who saw me avoided me like I was a ghost. Quite a few even snuck photos of me.

People whispered in the corridors, some gave thumbs-up, others just looked away. I felt like a celebrity for all the wrong reasons.

I just walked straight into the counselor's office.

I knocked firmly, entered without waiting for permission, and stood tall in front of her desk, making sure she saw the determination in my eyes.

When she saw me, her rage turned to shock, and her voice even trembled: "Arjun Kumar, are you mad, showing up in white kurta? Are you looking for trouble?"

Let her think what she wants—today, white is for truth, not surrender. The irony wasn’t lost on me—white for mourning, for truth, for courage. I stood my ground, ready to face whatever came next, because sometimes, standing up for family is worth every punishment in the world.