The hall had this weird, buzzy nostalgia, like the air itself was trying to relive the old days. Everywhere you looked, there were familiar faces, some more wrinkled, some with new haircuts or worse jokes, all waving and grinning and shooting those inside jokes across the rows. It was loud, but in that nervous, 'are we too old for this' kind of way...You could almost smell the stress sweat mixed with cheap perfume.
But then there was her name. Stuck in the middle of the attendance list like a bruise that just refuses to heal, no matter how many years you give it. “Avyukta Deshpande.” There it was again, like a dare to remember or maybe a warning not to.
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