12-09-2025, 04:36 PM
Scene 2 – College Gangs and Classmates
College life isn’t just about lectures, assignments, and pulling all-nighters with code that never seems to compile. Oh no, it’s much more than that. It’s about navigating the quirky little ecosystem of personalities that accidentally grow around you. You’ve got the loud, the weird, the brilliant, and the downright unpredictable, all crammed into this one tiny campus like a human-sized game of Tetris.
I’ve been here long enough to know exactly where I belong in this social zoo. Not quite the troublemakers, not quite the straight-A students, just somewhere in the middle, quietly observing everything. I’m the guy who gets dragged into the chaos at random moments and, in the end, just ends up rolling with it. Because, honestly, why not?
Take Amit and Varun, for example. Amit is the human embodiment of a walking disaster, always ready to make a joke out of anything, whether it's appropriate or not. He’s loud, full of overconfidence, and somehow manages to come up with a prank before the day even starts. He’s the guy who shows up to class in a Batman T-shirt one day and in a Gandalf costume the next. Then there's Varun, his partner-in-crime. He’s like Amit's slightly smarter, slightly quieter counterpart, but just as ready to escalate a prank to an Olympic level of stupidity. Together, they’ve achieved legendary feats: swapping ketchup for water in a senior’s bottle (and accidentally turning it into an impromptu science experiment), replacing the chalk in class with a bar of soap, and, on one unforgettable day, releasing a dozen crickets into the computer lab. I was there, of course, trying not to laugh, but mostly failing. It was like watching a live episode of Mission: Impossible… with more insects.
Then there’s Ria and Nisha. They’re the brainy, sensible ones. The ones who are way too good at saving Amit and Varun from ending up in a disciplinary committee meeting. Ria has a laugh that could stop traffic, and Nisha? She’s got a sarcasm so sharp it could cut through Amit’s ego like a chainsaw. I swear, the campus runs on their quiet leadership, while the rest of us are busy thinking the loudest person in the room is in charge. They’re the secret masterminds behind the scenes, pulling the strings while the rest of us make a mess of things.
And then there’s Kabir. Oh, Kabir. The wild card. Short, wiry, and faster than a caffeinated squirrel. If there’s a dare, he’s in it, no questions asked. He once convinced three of us to sneak onto the roof of the boys' hostel after curfew, just to watch the city lights. Yeah, you heard that right. Watching city lights. It was like a rom-com plot, but with more adrenaline and a much higher risk of getting caught by the hostel warden. Of course, I went along. My heart was doing backflips as I tried to avoid stepping on the squeaky roof tiles, praying the warden wasn’t a night owl. But Kabir? He was already up there, perched like a ninja, asking if anyone wanted to climb higher to get a better view.
And then there’s me. Rahul. The one who mostly watches. Sometimes I get roped in. Sometimes I don’t. I know my limits. I’m the guy they call on when they need help with a cheat sheet, a coding problem, or someone to listen while they vent about their most recent disaster. I like it that way. I’m content to be in the middle of it all without being the one everyone’s looking at.
But the real star of the show, the one who somehow glides into our circle without even trying, is Priya. She just shows up, effortlessly charming everyone around her like it’s nothing. She’s the one who laughs at Amit’s terrible jokes (usually followed by an exaggerated eye-roll), tells Varun to dial it down when he’s taken things too far, and teases Kabir relentlessly whenever he spins one of his "you won’t believe this" stories. It’s impossible not to smile when she’s around. Priya’s the type of person who turns the chaos into something fun, the noise into music, the nonsense into entertainment. And naturally, she makes my heart skip a beat every time she speaks.
Our gang is like one big, noisy family. But there are other groups on campus, too, the rivals, the show-offs, the ones who think they’ve got it all figured out. The seniors, for example. They walk around like they run the place just because they’ve been here a few extra years. You’d think they’ve discovered the secret to life itself, but it’s mostly just a lot of inside jokes and an unspoken belief that they’re the last generation of geniuses. Meanwhile, the juniors are still trying to figure out how to avoid embarrassing themselves in front of the seniors, which they often do in hilarious ways. It’s a social hierarchy, but one that’s constantly shifting, like a game of musical chairs, only with more snacks and drama.
One day, Amit thought it would be absolutely hilarious to swap the names on the seating chart in our Computer Networks class. I was sitting at the back, notebook open, just waiting for the inevitable chaos. Priya, of course, figured it out in 0.3 seconds. She rolled her eyes dramatically, muttered something so sharp and funny that Amit nearly fell out of his seat laughing. Kabir high-fived her like they’d just won an Olympic gold, and even Varun, who’s usually immune to anything that doesn’t involve mischief, had to admit defeat. As for me? I just smiled, quietly observing, happy to be part of the circus without being the clown.
That’s college life for you, noisy, unpredictable, a little frustrating, but mostly just alive. And in the middle of all this madness, I find myself stealing glances at Priya, wondering how she makes it all look so effortless. How she can be so vibrant, so full of energy, yet still manage to make everyone feel like they matter. She doesn’t notice me the way I notice her, of course. She’s got her eye on someone else, someone taller, louder, more obvious. But in moments like these, when she laughs with the gang, when she flips her hair over her shoulder like she’s walking down a runway, I forget all of that. For a second, the world shrinks to the sound of her laugh, and I don’t care who she notices or doesn’t.
College life isn’t just about lectures, assignments, and pulling all-nighters with code that never seems to compile. Oh no, it’s much more than that. It’s about navigating the quirky little ecosystem of personalities that accidentally grow around you. You’ve got the loud, the weird, the brilliant, and the downright unpredictable, all crammed into this one tiny campus like a human-sized game of Tetris.
I’ve been here long enough to know exactly where I belong in this social zoo. Not quite the troublemakers, not quite the straight-A students, just somewhere in the middle, quietly observing everything. I’m the guy who gets dragged into the chaos at random moments and, in the end, just ends up rolling with it. Because, honestly, why not?
Take Amit and Varun, for example. Amit is the human embodiment of a walking disaster, always ready to make a joke out of anything, whether it's appropriate or not. He’s loud, full of overconfidence, and somehow manages to come up with a prank before the day even starts. He’s the guy who shows up to class in a Batman T-shirt one day and in a Gandalf costume the next. Then there's Varun, his partner-in-crime. He’s like Amit's slightly smarter, slightly quieter counterpart, but just as ready to escalate a prank to an Olympic level of stupidity. Together, they’ve achieved legendary feats: swapping ketchup for water in a senior’s bottle (and accidentally turning it into an impromptu science experiment), replacing the chalk in class with a bar of soap, and, on one unforgettable day, releasing a dozen crickets into the computer lab. I was there, of course, trying not to laugh, but mostly failing. It was like watching a live episode of Mission: Impossible… with more insects.
Then there’s Ria and Nisha. They’re the brainy, sensible ones. The ones who are way too good at saving Amit and Varun from ending up in a disciplinary committee meeting. Ria has a laugh that could stop traffic, and Nisha? She’s got a sarcasm so sharp it could cut through Amit’s ego like a chainsaw. I swear, the campus runs on their quiet leadership, while the rest of us are busy thinking the loudest person in the room is in charge. They’re the secret masterminds behind the scenes, pulling the strings while the rest of us make a mess of things.
And then there’s Kabir. Oh, Kabir. The wild card. Short, wiry, and faster than a caffeinated squirrel. If there’s a dare, he’s in it, no questions asked. He once convinced three of us to sneak onto the roof of the boys' hostel after curfew, just to watch the city lights. Yeah, you heard that right. Watching city lights. It was like a rom-com plot, but with more adrenaline and a much higher risk of getting caught by the hostel warden. Of course, I went along. My heart was doing backflips as I tried to avoid stepping on the squeaky roof tiles, praying the warden wasn’t a night owl. But Kabir? He was already up there, perched like a ninja, asking if anyone wanted to climb higher to get a better view.
And then there’s me. Rahul. The one who mostly watches. Sometimes I get roped in. Sometimes I don’t. I know my limits. I’m the guy they call on when they need help with a cheat sheet, a coding problem, or someone to listen while they vent about their most recent disaster. I like it that way. I’m content to be in the middle of it all without being the one everyone’s looking at.
But the real star of the show, the one who somehow glides into our circle without even trying, is Priya. She just shows up, effortlessly charming everyone around her like it’s nothing. She’s the one who laughs at Amit’s terrible jokes (usually followed by an exaggerated eye-roll), tells Varun to dial it down when he’s taken things too far, and teases Kabir relentlessly whenever he spins one of his "you won’t believe this" stories. It’s impossible not to smile when she’s around. Priya’s the type of person who turns the chaos into something fun, the noise into music, the nonsense into entertainment. And naturally, she makes my heart skip a beat every time she speaks.
Our gang is like one big, noisy family. But there are other groups on campus, too, the rivals, the show-offs, the ones who think they’ve got it all figured out. The seniors, for example. They walk around like they run the place just because they’ve been here a few extra years. You’d think they’ve discovered the secret to life itself, but it’s mostly just a lot of inside jokes and an unspoken belief that they’re the last generation of geniuses. Meanwhile, the juniors are still trying to figure out how to avoid embarrassing themselves in front of the seniors, which they often do in hilarious ways. It’s a social hierarchy, but one that’s constantly shifting, like a game of musical chairs, only with more snacks and drama.
One day, Amit thought it would be absolutely hilarious to swap the names on the seating chart in our Computer Networks class. I was sitting at the back, notebook open, just waiting for the inevitable chaos. Priya, of course, figured it out in 0.3 seconds. She rolled her eyes dramatically, muttered something so sharp and funny that Amit nearly fell out of his seat laughing. Kabir high-fived her like they’d just won an Olympic gold, and even Varun, who’s usually immune to anything that doesn’t involve mischief, had to admit defeat. As for me? I just smiled, quietly observing, happy to be part of the circus without being the clown.
That’s college life for you, noisy, unpredictable, a little frustrating, but mostly just alive. And in the middle of all this madness, I find myself stealing glances at Priya, wondering how she makes it all look so effortless. How she can be so vibrant, so full of energy, yet still manage to make everyone feel like they matter. She doesn’t notice me the way I notice her, of course. She’s got her eye on someone else, someone taller, louder, more obvious. But in moments like these, when she laughs with the gang, when she flips her hair over her shoulder like she’s walking down a runway, I forget all of that. For a second, the world shrinks to the sound of her laugh, and I don’t care who she notices or doesn’t.
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