The story didn’t end there.
It only changed its place.
I had mentioned before that I was a hosteller.
And now, things changed again.
A new building was made for us.
Bigger…
but not better.
It didn’t feel like a hostel.
It felt like a place you stayed in
because you had no other option.
A routine.
A system.
Almost like a quiet cage.
And somewhere inside that,
I tried to move on.
I told myself to forget her.
To let it go.
And on most days,
I convinced myself that I had.
But not completely.
Sometimes,
I would ask day-scholar boys about her.
Just casually.
As if it didn’t matter.
And sometimes,
I would go to the terrace of that new building…
just to catch a glimpse of her.
It became a routine.
A quiet habit I never spoke about.
But life doesn’t wait for anyone to settle their thoughts.
Another year passed.
And with it came another competitive exam.
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This one was different.
It wasn’t meant for students like us.
Students of my age had not cracked it before.
It was something people talked about…
but didn’t expect.
And somehow,
I cleared it.
Everything changed again.
My name was everywhere.
My photos were printed in notebooks,
in diaries,
in places I never imagined.
Teachers praised me.
People noticed me.
And slowly…
something else started growing inside me.
Pride.
I started believing
I wasn’t the same student anymore.
Not the one who used to struggle.
Not the one who felt left behind.
I began to see myself differently.
Better than before.
Maybe even better than others.
And at that time,
it felt right.
It felt earned.
But I didn’t realize something then.
The same thing that was lifting me up…
was quietly changing me.
In a way I didn’t understand yet.
And I didn’t know —
that this version of me,
would one day
start breaking the very things
I had built so carefully.
