The fight didn't start with shouting.
It started with tone.
By the second week of rehearsals, Room 407 had begun to feel crowded in a way that had nothing to do with space.
Ananya was always on calls.
Pihu was always tired.
Nandini was always silent.
Meher was always dressed and never really there.
That evening, Ananya came back late, head full, throat sore from talking.
She dropped her bag. "Guys, I need help tomorrow. The sponsors changed slots again—"
Meher cut in, not looking up from her mirror. "Can it wait?"
Ananya paused. "It's important."
"So am I," Meher said quietly.
The room stilled.
Pihu looked up.
Nandini closed her book.
Ananya chose her words carefully. "I didn't mean—"
"You never mean," Meher interrupted. "But lately, everything is only about your fest, your meetings, your calls."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Meher turned. "When was the last time you asked me how I am?"
Ananya opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Meher laughed once. "Exactly."
"I'm trying to hold things together," Ananya said.
"For who?" Meher asked. "Everyone outside this room?"
The words landed.
Hard.
Pihu stood. "Okay, okay—"
"No," Meher said. "Let's not okay this."
She looked directly at Ananya.
"You didn't change. You just found people who clap. And now you live there."
Ananya felt heat rush to her face. "That's unfair."
"So is disappearing," Meher replied.
Nandini finally spoke. "We're all under pressure."
Meher shook her head. "But not all of us are choosing it."
The room held its breath.
Ananya said, softly but firmly, "I'm not choosing attention. I'm choosing growth."
Meher's eyes shone. "Then grow without stepping on us."
Silence followed.
Heavy. Sharp. Unfamiliar.
Meher grabbed her bag. "I'm going out."
The door closed.
And for the first time, Room 407 felt like four separate spaces.