Fest day didn't arrive.
It exploded.
By 9 a.m., Riverline College looked like a different planet.
Banners everywhere.
Lights strung across trees.
Music testing.
Volunteers running.
Makeup kits open.
Phones recording.
Ananya stood backstage, mic in hand, heart steady in a way that surprised her.
She wasn't nervous.
She was present.
From the wings, she spotted her girls.
Pihu in her volunteer tee, running with a clipboard like she owned the place.
Nandini near the script desk, focused, composed.
Meher near the fashion club stall, dressed simply today — white kurti, hair tied back, no performance.
Their eyes met.
Meher lifted her thumb.
Ananya inhaled.
And walked onto the stage.
The crowd was huge.
Students. Professors. Outsiders. Sponsors.
Mumbai.
She smiled into the mic.
"Good morning, Riverline. Welcome to Fresher Fusion."
And the moment she spoke, the noise softened.
Not because she was loud.
Because she was clear.
She hosted smoothly.
Handled glitches.
Filled silences.
Calmed chaos.
At one point, when the sound failed and people murmured, she didn't panic.
She laughed.
"Looks like even the speakers need a break. So until they're back… tell me, who here came for the food and accidentally stayed for the fest?"
The crowd laughed.
Clapped.
Leaned in.
Backstage, Kabir watched quietly.
"So this is her," he murmured.
Not the girl.
The presence.
Midway through the fest, something unexpected happened.
A group of formally dressed people arrived.
Not students.
Not staff.
Security came with them.
The coordinator rushed forward.
Whispers spread.
"Who are they?"
"Press?"
"Sponsors?"
Meher saw them.
And her face changed.
Not excitement.
Recognition.
Her body stiffened.
A tall man in a grey suit scanned the ground.
His eyes landed on her.
He froze.
Then walked straight toward her.
"Meher."
Her jaw tightened.
"I told you not to come here."
The man's expression softened. "Your mother sent me. The media picked up the fest. She didn't want to see you in pictures like this."
"Like what?" Meher asked. "Normal?"
He glanced around. "You know that's not your world."
Meher's voice dropped. "It's the only one where I breathe."
The man looked pained. "The Kapoor Group board meeting is in three days. Your presence matters."
Meher laughed quietly. "It always matters. Except when I do."
Pihu and Nandini stood a little distance away, confused.
"Who is that?" Pihu whispered.
Nandini's eyes narrowed. "Not no one."
Meher turned away.
"I'm not leaving," she said.
The man studied her.
Then nodded.
"Your mother won't like this," he said.
Meher met his eyes.
"For once," she replied, "I don't care."
He walked away.
And the weight he left behind was heavier than his words.
That evening, as Ananya closed the fest to thunderous applause, her voice clear, posture strong, eyes shining—
Room 407 stood together near the crowd.
Pihu clapped until her palms hurt.
Nandini smiled like a proud secret.
Meher watched Ananya not with jealousy…
…but something closer to awe.
Four girls.
One city.
And a future quietly rearranging.