MYTHILI! How Hostel Gossip Almost Cost Me a Beautiful Friendship!

    The early days in a new hostel are always a little awkward. Everything feels unfamiliar, and the comfort of old routines suddenly vanishes. Back in Kurinji, when I opened the door each morning, I was greeted by a view of tall trees swaying gently in the fresh air. There was no rush or competition for bathrooms, and disposing of waste was easy and hassle-free. Life there was slower, quieter — and somehow, freer.

    But here, everything has changed.

    Now, when I open my door, the first thing I see is my opposite room partner, someone I don’t even know. I later found out she's a Project Assistant from the Microbiology department. When I turn to my right, there's Raji, a scholar from the Economics department, all the way from Andaman, a truly sweet soul who brings a touch of warmth to this new, strange place. To my left, another scholar from the Department of Physics quietly goes about her day. And right in the middle, my little room.

    The room itself was shockingly small when I first entered. A single cot, one table... and no chair. I ended up pulling a chair from the entrance hallway and dragging it back to claim a little more comfort. Now, after settling in, my room is fully occupied, my books, my clothes, my little bits and pieces of life. There's hardly any space left to walk, let alone stretch or play around.

    But somehow, amidst this crowded mess, I can feel a new rhythm beginning to form, a new life waiting to unfold.

This was the first time in my life I found myself surrounded by so many scholars in a single hostel block. Until now, my world here had been small,  I only knew Kani and Harni, two familiar faces who had quietly occupied corners of my life.
But moving into this new place cracked open something bigger. For the first time, I could sense the possibility of knowing people from different departments, different walks of life, each carrying dreams, stories, and silent struggles of their own.

In those early days, though, it wasn’t easy. Everything felt heavy, awkward. I barely spoke to anyone. The only ones I occasionally exchanged words with were Bell and Priya, and even those conversations were brief, almost hesitant, as if we were all too cautious to reach out fully.

I often found myself drifting to my neighbor’s room. She was, after all, the only one I truly knew. Her familiar face was like a little lighthouse in the middle of an unfamiliar sea.
The corridors stayed silent after 9:00 p.m., doors closing one after another, like the slow falling of curtains on a stage. Behind each closed door, there were scholars retreating into their private worlds, studying, dreaming, or simply surviving.

Amidst all this, there was Mythili, a scholar from the Department of Biotechnology. She would often visit my friend’s room late in the evenings. Her room was just opposite, so it became her habit to drop by, sometimes carrying with her a cup of hot tea.
At first, I just noticed her coming and going, but curiosity eventually got the better of me. One evening, I gently asked my friend, "Why is she always in your room?"

My friend smiled knowingly, her eyes twinkling.
"She comes to share her little 'tea stories,'" she said. "Small bits of gossip, department news, everyday joys and frustrations."
And sometimes, Mythili, caught up in her excitement and laughter, would literally spill her hot tea while spilling the secrets of her day.

There was something beautifully human about those moments. In the quietness of lonely rooms, friendships were slowly, clumsily blossoming. Walls built out of shyness and unfamiliarity were starting to crumble, one shared story, one accidental tea spill at a time.

And in those stolen moments of conversation and clumsy laughter, I realized:
Even in a tiny, crowded room with barely enough space to walk, the heart can find endless room to grow.

But life has its harsh lessons too, lessons that come uninvited.

I never realized at that time that trust, so pure, so easily given, could become a dangerous thing during Ph.D. days.
I thought Mythili akka was just a little strange, a little different, based on the harmless image I had built from what my friend told me. So, following that half-formed idea, I kept my distance. No real conversations, just polite smiles when we passed each other in the corridor.

Later, as the days went by, small interactions happened naturally, waiting near the bathrooms, while washing vessels. We slowly started sharing basic details about ourselves, the kind of easy small talk that comes with living side by side.

And then, one evening, my friend noticed. She pulled me aside and whispered with an urgent tone,
"Stay away from her. She's a monster. She yells at people, fights like those you see on the streets, and she’s damaged your name in front of others. Don’t ever think of making her your friend."

She spilled out all the worst stories, all the anger, all the fear, all the judgments.
And standing there, hearing those sharp words, I felt something inside me quietly break.

Without really knowing Mythili akka for myself, without ever asking her side of the story, I blindly believed what I was told. I ignored her after that, not out of hate, but out of fear planted in me by someone I trusted.
I avoided her smiles. I pulled away from the little kindness we had started building. I chose silence when perhaps I should have chosen understanding.

And even now, when I look back, a small ache remains, the ache of realizing how easy it is to lose a potential friend not because of their truth, but because of the stories others weave around them.

"Sometimes, the smallest spaces hold the greatest transformations."...