I woke up to the soft warmth of Appa's hand gently shaking my shoulder.
"Nila, wake up," he said with a smile in his voice. "We're going out today. Just you and me."
I blinked at him sleepily, a little surprised. "Really? Where are we going?"
"We've got some shopping to do. Phone, alarm clock, and all those hostel things you'll need. Come on, let's make a day of it."
A familiar feeling washed over me. This had happened in my past life too—this outing with Appa before school reopened. But back then, I had been sulky, uninterested, and careless in my choices. This time, I knew better. I wanted to soak it all in.
After a quick breakfast and Amma's legendary filter coffee, I hopped onto Appa's bike. The morning breeze whipped past us as we rode through our usual town streets, filled with honking autos, flower stalls, and the smell of fried snacks. I held on tighter than I used to, treasuring the warmth and comfort of being close to him.
Our first stop was the electronics shop. The glass shelves were lined with sleek smartphones—slim, glossy, and tempting. I eyed them wistfully, remembering the iPhone I had bought with my first salary in my past life.
But now… I wasn't allowed those.
My school had a strict rule—only basic phones were allowed. No touchscreens, no camera, no internet.
Appa nudged me toward the counter. "Pick one, kanna."
I scanned the options, sighing internally. They all looked the same. Small, plastic, and a little... sad. "Do I have to get one of these?"
Appa chuckled. "I know it's not what you wanted, but rules are rules. Besides, it's just for emergencies. You're going to be inside the hostel most of the time."
"I know," I muttered, reluctantly picking a Nokia 105. Black. No frills.
My first phone and it wasn't even smart. Still, I reminded myself that I didn't need to stay connected to the world. I needed to stay connected to myself.
Next on the list: the alarm clock. We headed to a small shop nearby that sold household items. My past life flashed before my eyes—I'd broken at least three clocks during hostel life. Snoozed too hard, knocked them off desks, or just flung them across the room in sleepy rage.
I didn't want a repeat.
I browsed the shelves with care. One caught my attention—round, sturdy, with a big display and a light switch on top to check the time in the dark.
"This one looks good," I said, picking it up.
Appa examined it with interest. "It even has a light switch. That'll be useful."
I smiled. "Yeah. In hostel, switching on the tube light might wake others. Especially if your cabin partner is cranky like mine was last time..."
He raised an eyebrow at that but didn't press. "Good thinking. I used to struggle with that in college too. My roommate used to grumble every time I turned the light on. Eventually, I learned to check the time using the glow of my wristwatch."
I laughed. "See, you get it!"
He nodded, pleased. "You've really changed. You used to pick the brightest, flashiest clocks with cartoons on them."
"I'm going for long-lasting over loud now," I said, placing the chosen clock in our basket.
At the watch shop, the salesman began pulling out glittery pink bands and colorful digital watches aimed at schoolgirls.
I winced.
"Got anything more… classic?" I asked.
He looked confused, but Appa chuckled. "Vintage, she means."
I shot him a grin. "Exactly."
He gave me a look. "You sure? Last time we bought a watch, you were obsessed with the latest models and changing bands every month."
I shrugged. "This time, I want something that doesn't go out of style."
After a bit of back and forth, I picked out a Casio-style digital metal-strapped watch—timeless and tough. I already knew that by 2023, vintage was going to trend again. This was the perfect blend of future nostalgia and personal taste.
Appa smiled as I strapped it on. "You've definitely grown up."
As we walked back through the market, I spotted a small shop with keychains and trinkets hanging from metal racks.
"Appa, one minute!" I darted inside.
He followed me, curious. "What now?"
"I need a phone charm," I said, browsing the tiny charms hanging from strings.
"For a basic keypad phone?" He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Yes! Everyone in hostel will have the same model. I need mine to be different."
Appa sighed but let me be.
After some searching, I found the perfect one—a small crescent moon with a tiny astronaut dangling from it.
"This one," I said, showing it to him.
Appa chuckled. "Moon-themed, huh? Fitting."
"You'll need locks too, kanna. For your wardrobe and trolley."
"Oh! Right. I totally forgot about that."
We walked over, and the shopkeeper pulled out a few options from the glass counter. Appa picked up a sturdy number lock first. "This one's for your trolley. No need to carry a key—just remember the code."
"I can use my birthday," I mused aloud. "That way I won't forget."
Then came the second lock, a simple key-based one for my cupboard. "Always good to have a backup with a key," Appa said, testing its latch. "You never know how hostel locks hold up."
As he spoke with the shopkeeper, I spotted a tiny rack of keychains beside the counter. A glint of silver and soft enamel caught my eye—a crescent moon and scattered stars, dangling delicately on a ring. I held it up, admiring the quiet beauty of it.
"This one's cute," I said.
Appa leaned closer, inspecting it. "Looks good. Strong, but still pretty."
"Moon and stars," I murmured. "Is that your choice?"
He smiled. "I think it suits you. A little dreamy, a little stubborn."
I laughed. "That's very accurate."
We paid and stepped out with two locks tucked safely in a paper bag and a little piece of the night sky swinging gently from my fingers.
I just smiled and paid for it. It wasn't just about decoration—it was a reminder that even in a structured, rule-bound place like a hostel, I could still hold on to tiny pieces of myself.
Before heading home, we stopped at a roadside chaat stall. The air smelled of deep-fried puris, spicy chutneys, and roasted masala.
I clapped my hands. "Finally, my favorite part of the day!"
Appa frowned slightly but didn't argue. He wasn't a fan of chaat. Too much spice, too much raw onion, too little 'real' food, according to him.
Still, he ordered a samosa chaat while I went straight for my usual—pani puri.
"You'll get a stomachache," he warned, watching me with mild disapproval.
"I've never fallen sick from street food," I retorted, expertly cracking open a puri and stuffing it with the spicy, tangy water.
Appa picked at his samosa chaat. "It's all soggy," he grumbled.
I grinned. "That's the point!"
He sighed dramatically. "I'll never understand how you enjoy this."
"And I'll never understand how you hate it."
We sat there, bickering over food, laughing at each other's expressions—him struggling with the chutney's spice, me teasing him for eating only the samosa and ignoring the chaat part.
For a moment, it felt like time stood still. Like we weren't just shopping for hostel supplies but creating a memory I'd carry with me long after I left home.