Chapter 1: The Midnight Announcement

At two-thirty in the morning, the class prefect suddenly announced that everyone had to pay an extra ₹1000 as class fees. The corridor outside was silent except for the faint clink of someone’s steel tumbler and the faraway bark of a street dog. The air was heavy and still, the distant whir of the ceiling fan almost masking the sudden buzz of my phone. Even at this hour, the WhatsApp notification shattered the hush of the hostel. I squinted at the glowing screen, my eyes struggling to adjust to the harsh light in the otherwise pitch-dark room. ‘Arrey, what now?’ I thought, already dreading some new drama.

[The class fund is finished. Everyone needs to contribute ₹1030. Just round it down to ₹1000, I’ll cover the rest myself.]

The class prefect probably thought his generosity would move everyone to tears, but the WhatsApp group was full of suspicion instead. From the way he phrased it—so heroic, as if he was doing us a huge favour by sparing those extra ₹30—it was almost filmi. Maybe he expected a rain of ‘Wah, wah, bhai!’ in the chat. Instead, all he got were raised eyebrows and a dozen rolling-eye emojis.

[The class next door refunded ₹2000 to each person. Why are you asking us to pay more?]

The comparison was instant—typical Indian college logic, na? If the other class got a windfall, why should we be stuck paying more? Someone even tagged their cousin from Section B to verify the refund story, just in case.

Seeing the doubts, the prefect confidently posted a detailed breakdown of the class fund expenses.

The Excel file came with a flourish, complete with formulas and colour-coded highlights, as if that would magically end all suspicion. I bet he thought we’d all be too lazy to actually check the details, but this was a bunch of sleep-deprived engineering students—spreadsheets are our bread and butter.

The very first item? A reimbursement of ₹5000 in travel expenses—to me.

That night, everyone was convinced I’d embezzled the class fund and demanded that I return the money.

Of course, my phone started pinging non-stop, every ‘ting’ sharper than the last, echoing in the stillness of the hostel corridor. My roommate gave me a look—half-pity, half-amusement—as if to say, ‘Bas, ab teri khair nahi.’

I just laughed and tagged the class prefect, who had used the class fund to give himself a scholarship:

[Prefect, if you return yours, I’ll return mine.]

The group paused for a moment—just a beat, enough for everyone to process the jab. Then the chatter exploded all over again, the kind of chaos only Indian WhatsApp groups know how to create.