Episode 6 — The Cadence

The mess tea was lukewarm again, but Aritri had stopped caring. MBBS wasn’t the kind of life where you could brood over a bad cup of chai — not when the first bell for Anatomy was at 8 sharp and your hostel was a five-minute uphill walk from the lecture halls.

The campus was waking up in layers. First the hostel corridors, echoing with bathroom bucket splashes and people roaming with half-open sleepy eyes. Then the tree-lined path to the academic building, where groups of second-years leaned against the railings, watching the first-years come in a line, wishing them as they moved past.

The lecture hall was cold, fluorescent-lit, and filled with the dull hum of a projector warming up.

“Today, we will learn about osteology of the clavicle. Pay attention.”

By 9, Physiology started with the topic Resting Membrane Potential. The teacher said it was an important topic, both for concepts as well as exam point of view. There was no pause between theory and integration, and Aritri found herself gripping her pen tighter, chasing sentences before they vanished.

Next, 11 to 1. They had practicals of physiology where they were taught how to make a perfect blood smear.

"Physiology khoon maangta hai," Pragya joked.

Lunch at mess was rice, dal, and the usual overcooked cabbage. The noise was a dull roar — friends comparing notes, some scrolling through phones, others already looking like they needed another cup of tea to survive the afternoon.

By 2 PM, it was back to the same lecture building, this time for Biochemistry.

The teacher started with the introduction to carbohydrates — definition, classification, and the concept of monosaccharides.

“Exam point of view — you should know the structures of glucose, fructose, and galactose,” she said, underlining the words on the board in a single stroke.

The pace was gentler than Physiology, but there was no room for daydreaming. Every example had a possible viva twist, every diagram had to be drawn just right.

When the bell rang, Aritri stepped into the corridor with her notes still clutched against her chest. The hallway smelled faintly of phenyl and chalk dust. Students moved past in little rivers, some in a hurry to get to the next class, others drifting slowly as if the day could stretch forever.

That’s when it happened.

Up ahead, near the turn to the staircase, a first-year girl from another hostel was being casually blocked by a couple of seniors — nothing loud, just the kind of “friendly” delay that carried undertones. Most people walking past either looked away or kept their heads down.

Samaira came from the opposite end with two of her batchmates. She didn’t slow down until she was right in front of them. No raised voice, no dramatic pause. Just a level, steady look as she spoke:

"Chhod do. Abhi class khatam hua hai. Jaane do usko."

The words weren’t sharp, but they carried weight — the kind that made you obey before you even realised you had. The seniors stepped aside without a murmur, and the girl slipped away, mumbling a thanks. Samaira didn’t linger, didn’t wait for gratitude — she simply walked on.

Aritri stood a moment longer, watching her go. It wasn’t style or confidence she admired in that instant — it was something quieter. The ability to step in, end a wrong, and make it look like the most natural thing in the world.

And that corridor, Aritri thought, this is what leadership actually looks like.