Anjali had her bag strapped tight to her shoulder, her steps clipped and quick, as though the hallway itself was something she needed to escape. Her expression was stiff, her jaw set—like someone holding back the kind of thoughts that could unravel her if spoken aloud.
"Going somewhere in such a hurry?" Meher's voice, smooth and teasing, cut through the silence. She leaned casually against the doorway, arms folded, looking as though she'd been waiting for this exact moment.
Anjali froze. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't turn. "Move, Meher. I'm not in the mood."
"Good," Meher replied instantly, "because moods are unreliable. But caffeine?" She tapped her chin dramatically. "That works miracles. Come with us. Coffee at the café. My treat."
From a bench not far away, Aarya, Riya, Dev, and Arjun exchanged silent looks. They had seen this act before. When Meher switched to her 'velvet persuasion mode,' it was as good as a chess game where the last move was already decided.
"No," Anjali said sharply, finally turning. "I don't want to sit around sipping coffee and wasting time."
Meher tilted her head, studying her with the kind of smile that could easily be mistaken for kindness, but anyone who knew her well understood it was strategy.
"Fair. Except… refusing free coffee is practically a crime in my book. And besides, you'll need somewhere neutral to talk. And, let's be honest your place is too full of ghosts and the classroom is too full of ears."
Anjali blinked, thrown off. "Talk about what?"
Meher's grin widened. "About why you're running. And why you're gripping those papers like they're grenades you'd rather blow yourself up with than hand over."
Anjali's fingers tightened around her folder. Her lips parted, then pressed shut.
"Come on," Meher coaxed, softer now, but with that same unnerving certainty. "Ten minutes. No obligations. Coffee and silence if you want. But if you don't come, you'll look like you're scared of me. And that's just embarrassing, isn't it?"
That did it. Pride the lever Meher always knew exactly when to pull.
Anjali exhaled sharply. "Fine. Ten minutes."
Meher swept an exaggerated bow. "Excellent choice, Madam. Your carriage awaits."
Behind them, Aarya and Riya exchanged a silent wow, she really did it again, while Arjun muttered, "She's a dangerous one." Dev, who had been awkwardly tugging at his sleeves, only frowned. "She shouldn't push her like that." But even he followed, quietly protective despite his reluctance.
The group claimed a corner booth. Anjali sat stiff, arms crossed, eyes darting everywhere but at Meher.
Meher, however, sat like a queen in her court, sipping iced coffee and watching Anjali with the patience of someone who knew her target would speak eventually.
"You dragged me here. Now what?" Anjali snapped.
"Now," Meher leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, "you tell us why you look like you're smuggling state secrets in that folder."
Anjali slammed it onto the table. "Because these " her voice cracked, then steadied, " are mistakes. Every line, every word, every drawing. They're failures that mock me every time I see them. I'd rather burn them than keep carrying reminders of how much I couldn't do."
The café grew quiet. Even the clinking of cups at the counter seemed to pause.
Riya's mouth opened in shock, but she stayed silent. Aarya bit her lip. Arjun raised his brows. Dev, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably, clearly wanting to say something, but words seemed to lodge in his throat.
Meher didn't flinch. She tilted her head, considering. "So that's it. You want fire. An ending. Because seeing them alive hurts too much."
Anjali's jaw tightened. "Exactly."
Meher leaned back, smiling slowly, wickedly. "Perfect. Because we already have a better ritual. Forget burning. We repurpose. Those 'failures' of yours can actually feed something bigger."
Anjali frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Meher slid a folded paper across the table. "An application. For The Legendary Society of People Who Are Cooler Than Everyone Else."
The others groaned in unison. "Not this again," Arjun muttered.
"Yes, this again," Meher said brightly. "You join us. As a full member. But—" she tapped the bottom of the page, "there's a clause. If the group agrees on something for the betterment of society, every member is bound to support it."
Anjali picked up the paper warily. "This is ridiculous."
"Maybe," Meher said, shrugging. "But sign it, and we can help you turn those papers into something that doesn't haunt you. An eco-project. Recycled into notebooks for kids, or paper crafts, or anything but ashes. You wanted destruction; I'm offering transformation."
Anjali froze. Her throat worked, but no sound came out.
From the side, Dev finally spoke, voice low but steady. "She's right. Fire only erases. But maybe… maybe your work deserves to change shape, not vanish." His ears burned as soon as he realized everyone was looking at him, and he ducked his head, fiddling with his cup.
Something in Anjali's expression shifted. A crack in the armor. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the pen. Slowly, she signed.
The moment the ink touched paper, Meher let out a triumphant little laugh that quickly escalated into a full-blown villain cackle. Heads turned. The barista froze mid-pour.
Riya slapped her hand over Meher's mouth. "Stop it, you maniac, people are staring!"
Meher licked Riya's palm like a brat, and Riya yelped, jerking her hand back. "Ugh, disgusting!"
"Worth it," Meher whispered gleefully.
Anjali shook her head, half-annoyed, half-amused despite herself. Her phone buzzed just then. A glance at the screen softened her face. "Papa's here. I need to go." She stood, tucking the signed paper back into Meher's hands. "Don't make me regret this."
She left before anyone could respond.
Silence lingered for a beat. Then, Meher leaned back in the booth, steepling her fingers like a master villain. "Step one: complete. Soon, the world shall bend to my master plan."
"Pay the bill first," Arjun reminded dryly.
Meher blinked, then groaned. "Ugh. Reality ruins everything."
The others burst out laughing, the tension broken, but in the middle of it, Dev's gaze lingered on the empty seat Anjali had left behind. Quiet, thoughtful, caring always in ways he never voiced.