It was the last Friday of February, and Seoul wore its transition like a secret—winter's breath still lingered in the early morning air, but sunlight had begun to stretch longer each day. On the grounds of Hwarang High School, bare trees lined the stone walkways like silent guardians of student dreams. Students, still layered in sweaters and coats, hurried between classes, notebooks clutched and murmurs floating like steam into the cold sky.
Inside the classroom of Classroom 2-B – Architecture stream, Y/n scribbled notes across her page as her Design & Drafting teacher explained proportional scaling. Her pencil glided with quiet determination. She had arrived in Seoul from Jaipur just one month ago, and yet already, she felt like each line she drew helped root her deeper into this city—into this life.
Since January, she had been attending Hwarang High on her own. The start of high school in a new country, new language, new culture—it hadn’t been easy. But she never allowed herself to falter. Her goal was clear: to become a renowned architect. Everything she did, every line she sketched, every late night spent revising Korean vocabulary—it was all for that dream.
What helped was the routine. Wake at six. Journal. Shower. Attend school. Study. Eat simple meals. Sleep. Repeat. In that rhythm, she found focus. What she hadn’t found, though, was home. Not yet.
Until today.
It was nearly 5 PM when Y/n stepped off the bus at her dormitory’s stop. The sun was just beginning its descent, painting the sky with streaks of pink and coral. She tightened the scarf around her neck, clutching her folder of practice sketches close to her chest. Her steps were slow, exhausted. Friday afternoons meant her longest classes—mathematics and model-making back-to-back.
She reached the front door of the international dorm building and punched in her floor code—"4"—onto the keypad. The doors slid open with a soft hum. She stepped inside, taking the stairs instead of the lift, as she always did. It helped her slow her thoughts.
As she approached her hallway, something strange caught her eye.
The door to Room 402—the one she’d been living in alone since January—was slightly ajar.
Her heart paused. She distinctly remembered locking it that morning. Her grip on her folder tightened.
She pushed the door open slowly.
And was met with the loudest, most chaotic, most heart-healing sound she had heard in a month.
“Y/NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!”
“SURPRIIIIIISE!”
Y/n’s jaw dropped.
Standing in front of her, arms wide open, were three girls—each so familiar it made her eyes blur.
Netra.
Kshiti.
Payal.
Her girls.
Her soulmates in salwar suits and sneakers.
Tears sprang to her eyes before any words did. Her bag dropped to the floor as three bodies rushed toward her and wrapped her in a crushing hug that smelled like home—lavender oil, roasted peanuts, rose perfume, and turmeric soap.
“W-What—how—”
“We’re here, dummy!” Netra grinned, pulling back only to cup Y/n’s face. “Fully admitted. Fully moved in. Same dorm. Same floor. Same future.”
“Enrolled in Hwarang High School,” Kshiti added with a proud smile, adjusting her glasses. “Officially beginning classes this March. They said our elective streams start slightly later, so we were allowed a late start.”
“You didn’t seriously think we were going to let you conquer Korean high school without us, right?” Payal giggled. “Also, I brought haldi chips and your favorite kajal. Priorities.”
Y/n was still speechless.
Netra, Kshiti, and Payal—all the way from Jaipur—were here. In Seoul. At her school. In her dorm room.
The dorm room had already begun to transform.
Netra had strung up warm fairy lights across the top bunk.
Kshiti had neatly arranged color-coded notes and stationery on the study desk.
Payal had unpacked a small Bluetooth speaker that was already playing a mix of Korean lo-fi beats and Hindi classical ragas.
It was magic. It was madness. It was them.
“How did you even pull this off?” Y/n finally managed to whisper, voice cracking with emotion.
“We’ve been planning since December,” Netra said proudly, collapsing onto the bed. “Secret emails with your mom, coordinating with the Hwarang admissions office… all behind your back.”
“We got our final acceptance letter in early February,” Kshiti added. “We were told we could join in March. So we booked tickets and planned the surprise.”
“Also, this entire room now smells like Gujarat Snacks Corner because of me,” Payal grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Y/n laughed.
Laughed so hard she cried again.
Then she hugged each of them, one by one, as if to make sure they were real.
That night, they didn’t sleep until 3 AM.
They sat cross-legged on the floor, eating instant ramen and homemade namkeen from Payal’s Tupperware.
They took turns telling stories of what had happened since Y/n left India.
They showed her the photos they’d taken on the plane.
They teased her about the boy she barely mentioned but always included in her voice notes—Kim Taehyung.
“So… tell us about Sketchboy,” Netra grinned.
Y/n covered her face with both hands. “He’s just a classmate.”
“Just a classmate who left you a folded origami note in your file yesterday?” Kshiti raised an eyebrow.
Payal gasped. “Origami and quiet artist? K-drama male lead alert.”
Y/n groaned into her hands. “It’s not like that. He’s just… thoughtful. A little mysterious. We barely talk.”
“So when’s the wedding?” Payal grinned.
They all broke into laughter.
And beneath that laughter, something deep and solid settled in Y/n’s chest.
They were here.
Her girls.
Her mirrors.
Her anchors.
Together, they would walk the next three years of high school. Together, they would prepare for Seoul National University. Together, they would rise.
And as the fairy lights blinked gently above them, Y/n knew this with absolute certainty:
This was where her real story began.
With friendship. With dreams.
With the warmth of Jaipur hearts under the cold Seoul sky.
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