Chapter 8: Welcome Dinner... Or So We Thought

Bhai.

That day was amazing.

Or at least that's what we thought initially.

Both me and Amaira were convinced that college life was finally starting on a good note.

No ragging.

No senior drama.

No humiliation.

Just a wholesome welcome dinner.

Turns out...

We were completely wrong.

Very wrong.

Painfully wrong.

Anyways, as soon as we reached the ground, we noticed that the arrangements were actually pretty nice.

There were lights.

Tables.

Food counters.

And around two hundred students standing here and there.

Freshers mostly.

Everything looked warm and welcoming.

Exactly what we had expected.

Then suddenly, I heard a voice.

A deep voice.

A really deep voice.

The kind of voice that belongs in movie trailers.

I immediately froze.

"Wait."

Amaira looked at me.

I looked at Amaira.

And somehow we both understood.

That voice was good.

Very good.

Like ridiculously good.

It sounded as if someone had spent years training their vocals.

For a second, I forgot why I was even there.

Then I remembered.

Right.

College.

Freshers.

Welcome dinner.

Reality.

"Yaar hum yahan kyun hain?"

(Why are we even here?)

I asked Amaira.

She shrugged.

"Mujhe toh small informal celebration lag raha hai."

(Looks like a small informal celebration to me.)

"Not bad."

Honestly?

I agreed.

For once things actually seemed peaceful.

Then a few minutes later, a guy walked onto the stage.

And suddenly everyone started cheering.

Whistling.

Hooting.

Making all sorts of noises.

I looked at him carefully.

Okay.

Not bad-looking.

Definitely good-looking.

Tall too.

But honestly?

He gave me more older-brother vibes than crush vibes.

Meanwhile...

Amaira was literally staring.

And by staring, I mean STARING.

The girl wasn't even blinking.

I nudged her.

"Behen."

No response.

"BEHEN."

Still nothing.

"Earth calling Amaira."

Finally she snapped out of it.

"Bhai."

"What?"

"He's good-looking."

I sighed.

Of course.

Suddenly all my high school memories came flooding back.

Amaira had a very special talent.

She could develop a crush on literally any tall and attractive male within a radius of fifty metres.

It was honestly impressive.

"Yaar," I said.

"Ye aadat kab change hogi?"

(When will this habit change?)

She rolled her eyes.

I continued anyway.

"Sarak par koi handsome banda aa jayega toh bhi tujhe crush ho jayega."

(Even if a handsome guy walks past on the road, you'll end up having a crush on him.)

Amaira gasped dramatically.

"As if you're any better."

Fair point.

But still.

I maintained my innocence.

Both of us were so busy roasting each other that we completely failed to notice something important.

Very important.

Everyone was looking at us.

Not just one person.

Not two people.

Not ten people.

Almost two hundred people.

Oh my God.

The realization hit me like a truck.

Before we could react, the senior from the stage started walking towards us.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

The entire crowd seemed entertained for some reason.

"This is bad."

I whispered.

"This is very bad."

The senior finally stopped in front of us.

Then he crossed his arms.

"Are you two done talking, chatterboxes?"

Silence.

"Ho gayi aapki baatein?"

(Finished with your conversations?)

Neither of us said a word.

"Toh main bhi kuch bol loon?"

(Then can I speak too?)

At this point I wanted the ground to swallow me alive.

Immediately.

Without delay.

The senior returned to the stage.

"Firstly."

He paused dramatically.

"Welcome, freshers."

The way he said it sounded oddly threatening.

Nobody knew whether to feel welcomed or terrified.

Then he smiled.

And somehow that made things worse.

"Now every fresher will come up one by one."

No.

No.

No.

I already didn't like where this was going.

"You will introduce yourself."

Okay.

Fair enough.

"Tell us your rank."

Still manageable.

"And then..."

He grinned.

"You'll do whatever we tell you to do."

Excuse me?

WHAT?

The freshers collectively looked traumatized.

The seniors collectively looked delighted.

One by one, people were called.

The first victim was a poor guy with glasses.

"Name?"

"Lokesh."

"Full name."

"Lokesh Agnihotri."

"Rank?"

"Forty-five."

The senior nodded thoughtfully.

Then pointed towards the centre.

"Dance."

Poor Lokesh looked like his soul had left his body.

But he danced anyway.

Terribly.

Absolutely terribly.

The entire ground erupted into laughter.

Including me.

And Amaira.

I felt a little guilty.

Only a little.

Then came another fresher.

Then another.

Then another.

Some sang songs.

Some danced.

Some copied movie dialogues.

One guy proposed to a tree.

Another had to mimic a chicken.

At this point, I had reached a conclusion.

This wasn't ragging.

Technically.

But it was definitely public humiliation in high definition.

The seniors, meanwhile, looked extremely entertained.

"Yaar."

I whispered.

"We should leave."

Amaira immediately nodded.

For once we shared the same brain cell.

Very carefully, we started backing away.

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

Freedom was so close.

So close.

And then-

"Where do you think you're heading?"

We froze.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

We turned around.

The senior was looking directly at us.

Uh oh.

Very big uh oh.

And suddenly, I had a feeling things were about to get a lot worse.

For both me and Amaira. 😭✨📖

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