Exclusion

The poster outside the Tech Club room stopped Mansi mid-step.

INNOVE 8 – 24-Hour Innovation Challenge

Overnight | On-campus | Team Event

Her eyes lit up.

This was her world—ideas, logic, building something from scratch. She immediately texted Khushi.

Mansi: Khushi! Innove 8 is coming. We should participate together!

Khushi replied after a pause.

Khushi: Hmm. Okay. I’ll ask Prince and Arushi.

Prince joined the group only because Khushi asked him.

Later that evening, Prince texted Mansi privately—careful, gentle.

Prince: Khushi said you’re planning Innove 8.

Are you coming for sure?

Mansi hesitated.

Mansi: I really want to… but it’s overnight. I need permission.

Prince: Try once.

I’ll feel better knowing you’re there.

Her heart skipped.

Mansi: I’ll try. Promise.

That night at home, Mansi tried everything.

“Maa, I won’t roam,” she pleaded. “It’s inside college. Teachers will be there.”

“No,” her mother said firmly.

“Maa, what if I come back by late evening? I won’t stay overnight.”

Her mother sighed. “Late evening is fine. But not night.”

Hope flickered.

Mansi immediately called Khushi.

“Khushi, my mom agreed till late evening,” she said quickly. “I can stay till 9 or 10.”

Khushi’s tone changed instantly.

“No,” she said flatly. “Either you stay the entire night or don’t come at all.”

“But why?” Mansi asked softly. “I can still help. I’ll be there most of the time.”

“It’ll break team coordination,” Khushi snapped. “Don’t complicate things.”

“Oh…” Mansi whispered.

“So decide,” Khushi added coldly. “Full night or nothing.”

Mansi knew the answer already.

That night, she cried quietly. Not because she couldn’t go—but because she wanted to belong.

The next day—the day of Innove 8—Prince messaged her early.

Prince: Good morning.

Any chance you’re coming?

Mansi: No… I’m sorry. I can’t stay overnight.

A pause.

Prince: Even till evening?

Mansi: Khushi said it’s either full night or not at all.

Another pause.

Prince: That’s… harsh.

Mansi: It’s okay. I understand.

But Prince didn’t stop texting.

Throughout the day—between sessions, during breaks, even while walking—he kept messaging her.

Prince: We’re stuck on logic. What would you suggest?

Mansi: Try breaking the module. Don’t overload it.

Prince: That makes sense.

Why do you always think so clearly?

Mansi: Because I overthink everything 😅

Prince: Don’t stop. It helps.

Hours passed like minutes.

Prince didn’t realize how much time he was spending talking to Mansi.

Khushi did.

She noticed him smiling at his phone. Typing. Ignoring her questions.

“Prince,” she snapped, “are you even listening?”

“Yeah—sorry,” he said, locking his phone.

Her eyes narrowed.

That evening, Khushi pulled Prince aside.

“You’re talking to Mansi a lot,” she said sweetly. “Don’t you think it’s rude? She’s not even here.”

Prince frowned. “She’s helping.”

Khushi laughed. “Helping? Or interfering?”

Before he could reply, she video-called Mansi.

The screen connected.

Khushi leaned close to Prince deliberately. “See? We’re together. You’re not needed here.”

Mansi froze. “Khushi, I—”

“Stop pretending,” Khushi continued. “You always want attention.”

She ended the call.

Shaking, Mansi called her back.

No answer.

Again.

No answer.

Khushi, meanwhile, scoffed. “Let her call,” she muttered. “She needs to know her place.”

Late that night, chaos erupted.

Their project was flagged.

Copied.

Disqualified.

Panicking, Khushi called Mansi early morning.

“Mansi,” she said urgently, “send me your project. Right now.”

Mansi, exhausted and hurt, whispered, “Now?”

“Yes,” Khushi snapped. “Hurry.”

Mansi stayed up, created something quickly, and sent it.

Prince watched quietly.

Later, he asked, “Why did you need Mansi’s work if you already had a project?”

Khushi stiffened. “I didn’t use it. I chose to get disqualified.”

Prince didn’t argue—but suspicion settled.

In the library, Khushi showed Mansi a polished project.

“This is incredible,” Mansi said genuinely. “You’re so talented.”

Khushi smiled.

Inside, she thought, I need Prince closer. Money doesn’t wait.

Soon, the hill trip happened.

The house was unusually quiet that night.

Mansi stood near the door, bag half-packed, hands trembling—not from fear, but frustration.

“You never let me go anywhere,” she burst out. “You’re trying to cage me, Maa.”

Her mother looked up slowly. She didn’t shout. She didn’t panic.

She sighed.

“Mansi,” she said softly, “sit.”

“I don’t want to sit,” Mansi snapped, tears brimming. “Khushi is going. Everyone is going. Why only me?”

Her mother walked closer and held her shoulders firmly.

“Because your father is not home,” she said calmly.

“So what?” Mansi cried. “I’m not a child!”

Her mother’s voice cracked just a little.

“If something happens to you tonight,” she said quietly, “how will I manage? You and your younger sister—alone—here?”

Mansi looked away.

“And Khushi?” Mansi asked bitterly. “Why is she allowed everything?”

Her mother answered gently but firmly.

“Because she is a resident here. If anything happens to her, her family, relatives, neighbors—everyone is here to protect her.”

She cupped Mansi’s face.

“You belong to another state,” she continued. “We have no relatives here. No support system. If something happens to you—who will come?”

Silence fell.

Mansi’s anger slowly dissolved into helpless tears.

“So I just… stay behind?” she whispered.

Her mother hugged her tightly.

“No,” she said. “You stay safe.”

That night, while Khushi climbed hills and posed for photos,

Mansi lay awake—feeling left behind, misunderstood, and painfully invisible.

Khushi made sure she stood close to Prince in every photo.

“Take one more,” she said, gripping his arm.

“Stand here,” she insisted.

“Smile,” she whispered.

Prince didn’t resist.

Later, while walking, she leaned into him. “If I slip, you’ll catch me, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

She made sure everyone saw.

When SIH came, Mansi wanted to join.

Khushi stopped her again.

“It’ll go till night,” she lied.

The event ended by afternoon.

Everyone participated.

Except Mansi.

She sat alone.

Khushi spent those hours with Prince.

“Arushi talks behind your back,” she said softly.

“She’s jealous of us.”

Prince listened.

On stage, Khushi froze. Prince and Priyansh handled everything.

Results came.

Disqualified.

Hardika advanced.

Khushi snapped. “She must’ve slept with the judge.”

No one listened.

The next afternoon, the group sat scattered near the college gate.

Arushi had barely eaten.

Prince noticed.

He smirked.

“Hey,” he said casually, loud enough for others to hear, “you eat so little.”

Arushi looked up, confused. “Yeah… I’m not very hungry.”

Prince laughed.

“Then how are you so fat?”

The words landed like a slap.

Silence.

Arushi froze. Her fingers tightened around her water bottle.

“What?” she whispered.

Prince leaned back, amused.

“I mean seriously,” he continued, shrugging.

“If you eat like a bird, where does all that weight come from?”

Khushi watched closely.

Arushi’s eyes filled instantly.

“I—” her voice broke. “That’s not funny.”

Prince scoffed. “Relax. It’s just a joke.”

“A joke?” Arushi asked, tears rolling now. “You think this is funny?”

No one spoke.

Khushi looked away—satisfied.

Prince stood up. “Why are you getting emotional? You people can’t take anything.”

Arushi wiped her tears silently.

She didn’t shout.

She didn’t argue.

She just stood up and walked away.

That evening, she decided something quietly and firmly:

She would never talk to Prince again.

Khushi noticed.

And for the first time that day, she smiled genuinely.

“At least,” she thought,

“one good thing happened today.”

And through everything—

Mansi watched.

Quiet.

Patient.

Remembering.

Because silence, when ignored long enough, learns how to speak back.

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