Hostel Courtyard — 6:30 AM
C stepped out of the car.
The morning air wrapped around her — cool, soft, carrying the scent of flowers she couldn’t name.
Her shoes touched the pavement, and for a moment, she simply stood there, gripping her small purse bag, watching the world move around her.
Students laughed in the distance.
A fountain sparkled nearby.
Palm trees swayed gently against the endless blue sky.
This is real, she thought.
I’m really here.
Before she could take another breath, a figure appeared.
The Girl in Blue
She was bold.
Frank.
Moving toward C like she had known her forever.
Blue western frock, short and bright, catching the morning light.
Red hair — short, fiery, impossible to ignore — bounced with every step.
Green eyes sparkled with warmth and energy.
She was smiling.
Wide.
Happy.
“Hi, little girl!”
Before C could react, the girl wrapped her arms around her in a quick, warm hug.
C froze.
Her body went stiff.
Her mind went blank.
What is happening?
she thought.
Why is she touching me?
No one outside her family had ever hugged her.
Not friends — she didn’t have friends.
Not classmates — they kept their distance.
Her world was small: home, college, home again.
Touch was for family.
Hugs were for Ami, for Anita D, for little Bisma.
This stranger — this loud, friendly, unfamiliar girl — was pressing against her like they were sisters.
C didn’t know how to respond.
She stood still.
Arms at her sides.
Heart confused.
The girl pulled back, still smiling, her green eyes dancing.
“I’m so sorry!
Actually, the department assigned you to me, but I’m so sorry —”
She laughed, a free, loud sound that echoed across the courtyard.
“I’m Riya Stewart.
How was your flight?”
C blinked.
Riya.
The name from the letter.
The senior student who was supposed to pick her up.
But this girl — this loud, friendly, hugging stranger — was nothing like C had imagined.
She had never met anyone like this.
She didn’t know what to say.
Her friends were her books.
Her companions were her notes, her dreams, her family.
That was it.
That was all.
Girls like Riya — bold, confident, hugging strangers — existed in a world C had only read about in textbooks.
And even then, only in passing.
She didn’t read stories.
She read facts.
Formulas.
Code.
What do I say?
she thought.
What do I do?
She swallowed.
“Assalam o Alaikum,” she said softly, her voice calm but small.
“The flight was…
good.”
Riya smiled.
“It’s okay, little girl.
Relax first.
This place feels strange, but slowly — slowly — you’ll feel like home, okay?”
Behind them, Azhan placed C’s travel bag on the ground.
He nodded once at Riya — a silent exchange — then turned and walked back to his car.
C watched him go.
Her chest felt strange.
Why does that feel strange?
she wondered.
He’s just a stranger.
He picked me up from the airport.
That’s all.
But the feeling stayed — small, confusing, unfamiliar.
She pushed it away.
I need to study, she thought.
That’s why I’m here.
To study.
Nothing else.
The Roommates
The car pulled away.
Other voices surrounded her.
A girl stepped forward — brownish skin, a little chubby, with golden-yellow hair that caught the sunlight.
She wore a dupatta draped over her shoulders but not covering her head.
A long frock and jeans — covered, but different from C’s style.
Her smile was warm.
Gentle.
“Hi, C.
I’m Aminah.
Riya’s roommate.”
She didn’t try to hug her.
C felt relief.
“Don’t worry, girl.
All good.
Feel relaxed, okay?”
C nodded.
Another girl appeared — sharp features, dark eyes, a confident stance.
Her skin was darker, beautiful, and she wore clothes like Riya’s — western, modern, comfortable.
Her English was fast, crisp, American.
Third year, Software Engineering.
So new department student — don’t worry.
It’s all good.”
C nodded again.
Software Engineering, she thought.
Same as me.
But she’s older.
More experienced.
Neha’s eyes drifted toward the road where Azhan’s car had disappeared.
She stared for a moment.
Then looked away.
C noticed but didn’t understand.
Why is she looking at the road?
she wondered.
There’s nothing there.
She didn’t know about crushes.
She didn’t know about attraction.
She had never read a romance novel, never watched a drama, never heard girls giggle about boys.
Her world was textbooks and prayer and family.
So she didn’t understand the look in Neha’s eyes.
She simply filed it away as strange and moved on.
Another girl stepped forward — sharp English features, light eyes, a calm presence.
She wore clothes similar to Riya’s, modern and comfortable, but her energy was softer.
“Assalam o Alaikum, C.
How are you?
You’re so tiny — not like us.”
She laughed gently.
“Come.
By the way, I’m Yasmeen.
Psychology student, third year.
Me and Aminah are cousins — from Iran.”
C smiled.
Iran, she thought.
Not far from home.
Maybe they understand.
“Walikum Assalam,” she said softly.
“I’m fine.
Thank you.”
Their English was simpler than the others — not as fast, not as sharp.
C understood every word.
Good, she thought.
I can understand them.
Then her mind drifted.
Azhan’s English was different.
Smooth.
American.
But he spoke slowly for me.
He made sure I understood.
Why did he do that?
She didn’t know why she was thinking about him again.
He’s just a stranger, she told herself.
I need to focus on my studies.
She pushed the thought away.
The Hostel
“Come, C,” Riya said, taking her hand.
“First, meet the warden.”
Aminah reached for C’s travel bag.
C stepped back instinctively.
“No, it’s okay — I can carry —”
“It’s okay, C,” Aminah said gently, lifting the bag.
“Let’s come inside.
Relax.”
The hostel gate opened onto a path lined with flowering bushes — pink, purple, white — their petals soft in the morning light.
The buildings beyond were modern but warm, painted in cream and terracotta, with large windows that reflected the sky.
A central courtyard stretched before them, dotted with benches and small tables.
Students sat in groups, some reading, some laughing, some simply watching the world go by.
A few wore hijab like C.
Others wore nothing on their heads at all.
Everything was clean.
Bright.
Welcoming.
This is where I’ll live, C thought.
The fountain near the entrance sparkled, water dancing in the sun.
Palm trees lined the walkways, their shadows cool on the paved paths.
C followed Riya inside.
The Warden’s Office
The office was large — bigger than any room in C’s home.
Polished wooden floors gleamed under soft lighting.
A long desk sat near the window, covered with papers and a computer screen.
Side tables held potted plants — green and thriving.
A bookshelf against the wall overflowed with files and binders.
Behind the desk sat a woman.
She was around forty-five, with kind eyes and silver-streaked hair pulled back neatly.
She wore a simple blouse and cardigan — professional but warm.
Riya stepped forward.
“Hi, Mam.
New girl — C Ismail.
From Pakistan.
Golden Excellence Scholarship.”
The woman stood and smiled.
“Hello, C Ismail.
How are you?
Yes, yes — scholarship student.
The university already sent your documents.
So…
how was your flight?”
C felt herself relax.
A female teacher, she thought.
Like Anita D.
Like my college teachers.
I know how to talk to her.
“Assalam o Alaikum, Mam,” she said softly, her voice steadier now.
“I’m fine.
The flight was…
long, I guess.”
“Don’t worry.
We’re all here.
My name is Elizabeth — I’m the hostel warden.
Been here twenty-seven years.”
She chuckled.
“No worries.
Sit, sit.”
Riya and C sat in the chairs across from the desk.
“Now, C,” Elizabeth said, “give me your documents.”
C opened her small purse bag — the one Anita had given her, the one that held everything important — and carefully handed over the envelope from the district office.
Her passport.
Her visa.
Her admission letter.
A female clerk at a side computer began typing, entering information, scanning documents.
Elizabeth watched patiently.
After a few minutes, she looked up.
“C, kid — give me your phone.”
C reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.
It was simple.
Old.
A second-hand phone that Hamad Bhai had bought for her before she left.
The screen was slightly scratched.
The case was plain.
She handed it over.
Elizabeth took it gently, wrote something on a small piece of paper, and tucked it into the phone’s case.
“Here,” she said, handing it back.
“I wrote the Wi-Fi password.
You can call your family, study, use the internet.
But no watching bad stuff — this Wi-Fi is for knowledge only.”
C nodded.
Bad stuff?
she thought.
What does that mean?
She didn’t ask.
She didn’t watch movies or dramas.
She didn’t know what “bad stuff” referred to.
She only used the internet for studying — for research, for tutorials, for coding help.
That was all.
The clerk finished typing.
Elizabeth handed back the documents and pulled out a small key from her drawer.
“Room 101,” she said, placing the key in C’s hand.
“Third floor.
Take it.”
Riya grinned.
“C, you’re my roommate now!”
C looked at the key.
Room 101, she thought.
My room.
My new home.
The Rules
Elizabeth pulled out a form.
“This is a visiting form for relatives,” she explained.
“If you have any family here, they can visit.
They need to fill this out and register at the front desk.”
C looked at the form.
“I don’t have family here, Mam,” she said softly.
“My family is in Pakistan.
They’re…
far.”
Riya touched her shoulder gently.
“Don’t worry, C.
No tension.
I’m here.
You’ll make friends too.
Okay?”
Elizabeth smiled.
“It’s okay, C.
Yes, we’re all your family here.
Now go see your room.
Rest.
You’ve had a long flight.
Come back at 5 PM to collect your hostel card and meal card, okay?”
C nodded.
“Also,” Elizabeth continued, “your meal card works in the hostel canteen and the university canteen.
Breakfast, lunch, dinner — all included in your scholarship.
And you must sign in and out every time you leave.
Hostel gates close at 11 PM sharp.”
C absorbed the information.
Sign in and out.
Gates close at 11 PM.
Meal card.
Hostel card.
So many rules, she thought.
But…
they care.
They want us safe.
“Okay, Mam,” she said.
Elizabeth smiled warmly.
“Go now.
Rest.
Come back at 5.”
Riya stood.
“Come, C.
Let me show you the hostel.
Then Room 101.”
She stepped through gates, a world unknown, A quiet heart, a seed yet sown.
She didn’t know what love could be— She’d only read what books decree.
No stories filled her simple days, Just formulas and studied ways.
Her friends were pages, pens, and light— She studied deep into the night.
She didn’t understand the beat, The strange new rhythm, the sudden heat.
When blue eyes looked, when voices low— She didn’t know.
She didn’t know.
But something stirred beneath her chest, A fragile bird, a quiet guest.
Not love—not yet—just something new.
A girl.
A stranger.
A sky so blue.
Next: Room 101 — The First Look.