The next Sunday morning was peaceful.
No unnecessary noise.
No pressure.
Just home.
And, of course, Payel.
I talked to her that morning for almost three hours.
Three hours of conversations that somehow made the entire world feel smaller.
We talked about random things, laughed at stupid jokes, complained about people, and discussed things that probably didn't even matter.
But with Payel, even the most meaningless conversations felt meaningful.
There was something about talking to her.
Whenever I was with her—or even just talking to her—I didn't have to pretend to be okay.
I could simply be myself.
Sometimes I wondered how three hours could pass so quickly.
I'd look at the time and think,
How has it already been this long?
And yet, whenever we said goodbye, it always felt like we'd only just started talking.
Eventually, I had to leave.
"I'll talk to you later," I told her.
"Okay."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I smiled before ending the call.
For a few seconds, I just sat there staring at my phone.
I felt strangely peaceful.
I had no idea that by the end of the day, that peace would be gone.
By evening, I packed my things and returned to the hostel.
The moment I entered, I could feel that the atmosphere was different from home.
The hostel was noisy.
People were moving around.
Some were talking loudly.
Some were laughing.
Some were sitting together.
And by then, most of the people there already knew me.
Unfortunately, they had also started noticing something about me.
I wasn't as confident as I used to be.
I had become quieter.
I didn't argue much.
I avoided unnecessary fights.
I kept to myself.
And some people misunderstood that.
They thought I was weak.
They thought I was an easy target.
They didn't understand that sometimes a person becomes quiet not because they are weak, but because they are tired.
Some of my seniors had already tried to rag me on my first day.
Luckily, they couldn't do much because the warden had arrived at exactly the right moment.
They immediately backed off.
I thought that was the end of it.
I was wrong.
That night, I went to sleep normally.
And there was one thing about me that everyone should have known before planning anything.
I was an unbelievably deep sleeper.
It was one of my worst habits.
If I was in deep sleep, the world could probably end around me and I would still be sleeping.
Someone could probably announce the apocalypse beside my bed and I'd probably turn around and say,
"Five more minutes."
So when the seniors came quietly into the room that night, they knew exactly what they were dealing with.
They checked whether I was awake.
I wasn't.
They waited.
Then checked again.
Still nothing.
Apparently, I was sleeping like my life depended on it.
And then they started their ridiculous plan.
First came the coconut oil.
The entire bottle.
I have no idea what possessed them to think this was a good idea.
They poured the oil over me.
Then they rubbed it around.
And before I could even dream about what was happening, they brought out the powder.
An entire bottle of Dermi Cool.
By the time they were finished, I apparently looked less like a sleeping student and more like a ghost that had accidentally walked into a hostel room.
And somehow...
I slept through everything.
Not even a movement.
Not even a reaction.
Nothing.
Until around 3 AM.
At first, I was still half asleep.
Something smelled strange.
Very strange.
A strong smell entered my nose.
I turned my face slightly.
The smell became stronger.
My sleepy brain tried to understand what was happening.
Then I opened my eyes.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
I looked around.
Everything seemed normal for a second.
Then I looked down.
Oil.
Powder.
Everywhere.
My bedsheet was covered.
My pillow was covered.
My clothes were covered.
And I was covered in powder and oil.
I just stared at myself.
For a few seconds, I couldn't process what I was seeing.
Then my brain finally caught up.
"What the hell...?"
I sat up.
I looked around the room.
Nobody was there.
Or at least, nobody was admitting anything.
Then my anger exploded.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
My voice echoed through the hostel.
"WHO DARED TO DO THIS TO ME?!"
Doors opened.
People came running.
Within moments, everyone wanted to know what had happened.
I stood there covered in oil and powder, looking like I had been attacked by an entire cosmetics shop.
But I wasn't laughing.
I was furious.
"Who did this?"
Silence.
I looked at everyone.
"Who did this to me?"
Again, silence.
The seniors who had done it were standing among everyone else.
And I noticed something.
They looked nervous.
They had never seen me like this.
They had only seen the quieter version of me.
The version who had lost confidence.
The version who didn't want trouble.
They had forgotten that the old me was still there.
And when I became confident again, I could be a very difficult person to deal with.
I looked around.
Nobody spoke.
"I asked who did this."
One person finally said,
"I don't know."
Another said,
"I was sleeping."
Someone else said,
"I didn't see anything."
I knew they were lying.
I could feel it.
For a moment, I wanted to create chaos.
I wanted to find the person responsible.
I wanted to ask them exactly what made them think they could do this to me.
But then I stopped.
I took a deep breath.
I didn't want to make the situation worse.
So I simply said,
"Fine."
I picked up my things and walked toward the bathroom.
Inside, I looked at myself in the mirror.
I couldn't help but stare.
I looked ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
And underneath the anger, there was embarrassment.
I washed my bedsheet.
Then my pillow cover.
Then I took a bath.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Still, the smell remained.
I stood under the water again.
"Seriously?"
I washed myself again.
But somehow, the smell was still there.
It felt like someone had permanently replaced my natural scent with Dermi Cool.
Eventually, I gave up.
I returned to my room.
But I couldn't sleep.
The irony was almost cruel.
The boy who could sleep through practically anything was now scared to close his eyes.
Every little sound made me alert.
A door opening.
Someone walking down the corridor.
A whisper.
A small movement.
My eyes would immediately open.
Is someone coming again?
That thought kept repeating in my mind.
And it didn't stop after one night.
The whole week became difficult.
I couldn't sleep properly.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I remembered that night.
I kept thinking about what would happen if someone tried something again.
The incident had affected me more than I wanted to admit.
By the time the next weekend arrived, I was exhausted.
I went home.
The moment my parents saw me, they knew something was wrong.
My mother looked at my face.
"What happened to you?"
"Nothing."
She frowned.
"Nothing? Look at your eyes."
My father looked at me carefully.
"You haven't been sleeping properly."
I remained silent for a moment.
Then I told them everything.
Their expressions changed immediately.
They weren't angry because I had been covered in oil and powder.
They were angry because I had been made to feel unsafe.
My mother looked at my dark circles.
In just one week, I looked completely exhausted.
I had lost sleep.
My confidence had fallen even further.
And somehow, I still felt like the smell of the powder was stuck to me.
My uncle was furious when he heard about it.
He complained to the hostel.
He made it clear that this wasn't acceptable.
And eventually, he withdrew my name from the hostel.
"Enough," he said.
And honestly, I didn't argue.
Maybe leaving was the right thing.
Maybe I needed to get away from that place.
Maybe I needed to feel normal again.
But there was still one person I hadn't told.
Payel.
When I finally told her what had happened, I expected sympathy.
I expected her to ask if I was okay.
Maybe I expected her to say,
"That must have been horrible."
Instead...
She laughed.
I stared at her.
"Why are you laughing?"
She tried to stop.
She couldn't.
"You're such a sleepyhead!"
"Payel..."
"You seriously didn't wake up?"
"No!"
"Not even once?"
"No!"
She burst out laughing again.
I sighed.
"What's so funny?"
"You were sleeping while they poured an entire bottle of oil on you!"
"It's not funny."
"It is!"
"It absolutely isn't!"
She was laughing so hard that she had to hold her stomach.
Then she looked at me with that mischievous smile I knew too well.
"What if someone actually killed you while you were sleeping?"
I stared at her.
"Can you please stop?"
"No."
"Payel."
She laughed again.
"I still can't believe you didn't wake up."
"I was sleeping!"
"Clearly!"
Then she started imagining the whole scene.
"So you woke up at 3 AM looking like a white ghost?"
I covered my face.
"Please."
"With oil everywhere?"
"Payel..."
"And powder all over your bed?"
"Stop!"
She laughed harder.
For the next three hours, she roasted me.
Three whole hours.
Every time I thought she was finally done, she'd remember something else.
"So, Mr. Deep Sleeper..."
"Don't."
"...what happens if there's an earthquake?"
"I'll wake up."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"What about an explosion?"
"Payel."
"What about the apocalypse?"
"I hate you."
She laughed.
"You know what? I'm actually impressed."
"By what?"
"Your sleeping skills."
I rolled my eyes.
She smiled.
And then, for a moment, the laughter became quieter.
She looked at me.
"You really weren't sleeping properly after that, were you?"
I didn't answer.
She knew.
Her expression softened.
"You're okay now, right?"
I nodded.
"Yeah."
She smiled.
"Good."
And then, just like that, she went back to teasing me.
I couldn't even be angry.
Because somehow, she had done something no one else could.
She had taken one of the worst and most embarrassing memories of that week and turned it into something I could laugh about.
Maybe that's what I needed.
Not someone to tell me to forget it.
Not someone to pity me.
Just someone who could make me smile again.
Someone who could remind me that one terrible night didn't define me.
And Payel had always been good at that.
She could make the world feel lighter without pretending the heavy things didn't exist.
That evening, while she continued calling me a "white ghost" and a "professional sleeper," I found myself laughing.
Really laughing.
For the first time in days, the weight inside my chest became lighter.
The hostel had taken away my sleep.
It had shaken my confidence.
It had left me angry, embarrassed, and exhausted.
But Payel gave me something back.
My smile.
And maybe, sometimes, healing doesn't begin when you forget what happened.
Maybe it begins when you finally find someone who can make you laugh about it.
Someone who can look at your worst moment and still make you feel like yourself.
For me, that person was Payel.
Although...
I still hadn't forgiven her for laughing at me for three straight hours.
And judging by the smile on her face, she had absolutely no intention of stopping anytime soon.