Still Here
A soft breeze slipped through the half-open window, nudging the white curtains like a whisper. The morning sun crept across the floorboards, climbed the edge of her bed, and finally reached her closed eyes. Sanem stirred, her lashes fluttering against the light. She groaned softly, burying her face into the pillow for a second longer, resisting the day. She loved this part of the morning, where the world was awake but still gentle, and a sleepy smile crossed her lips. One hand reached out from under the blanket, blindly looking for her phone. Another snooze? Maybe. But the sun had other plans. It kissed her cheeks warmly, convincing her to give in. With a sigh and a stretch that arched her spine like a cat’s, Sanem finally sat up — hair a tangled halo, sleep still clinging to her face. She blinked at the light, then smiled faintly, as if remembering something sweet from a dream. She sat up, ruffling her hair absently as she looked out — the city below still half-asleep, the sky dressed in its soft morning blue.
Another day. Right on time. Just the way she liked it.
I stood before the mirror like a soldier before battle—not to admire, but to prepare. The cream-colored oversized t-shirt hung loosely on my frame, as if trying to hide me from the world. Gray jeans clung to my legs, grounding me in a reality I didn’t choose. White shoes—pristine, untouched—waited to tread roads I never meant to walk. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail, tight, simple, functional. There was no room for flair. Not today.
Today was my first day of college. Not the college I had dreamed of. Not the beginning I had imagined.
There was a time—not long ago—when I saw my future laid out like a well-lit path. I was a topper. The girl who always had the answers, always knew the way forward. I had dreamed of NIT, dreamed in the language of physics, numbers, and late-night study sessions. I remembered sitting for the JEE Mains, pencil tapping lightly against the desk, confidence pulsing in my blood like a quiet storm. 189 out of 300. A damn good score.
But somewhere between the dream and the destination, the ground gave way.
I failed my 12th boards. Once. And then again.
The silence that followed was louder than any scream. Everything I had built, everything I had believed, collapsed into dust. No one prepares you for the sound of your dreams breaking. No one tells you how it feels to look into the mirror and not recognize the person staring back.
I tried everything. Scrambled through the debris of my broken plans, clawed for hope in corners I never thought I’d have to search. But nothing worked. Life didn’t wait. It shoved me forward into a course I never chose—a diploma I didn’t even want. And now, here I was. Standing in front of the mirror, dressed in borrowed strength and artificial calm, ready to walk into a college that felt like a stranger’s life. Outside, the world moved on, indifferent to my inner war. But inside, I was unraveling—quietly, completely.
I took a breath. Not because I was ready. But because sometimes, when life doesn’t give you a way out, the only way forward is through.
I opened the door and stepped out—not into a dream, but into a beginning that didn’t feel like one. And still, I walked. One foot in front of the other. Because even if I had lost everything, I hadn’t yet lost the will to begin again. Vayura University provides transport. Buses lined up every morning like giant metal beasts, waiting to swallow students and carry them into their new lives. For most, it was routine. For me, it felt like walking toward something I wasn’t ready for. Something I never asked for.
I tightened the strap of my bag and glanced at the time. Almost late, but not quite. At least I could still be punctual. If nothing else, I had that. Everything else—dreams, direction, confidence—had slipped through my fingers. But time? Time, I could chase.
Main ek nayi shuruaat karna chahti hoon. A fresh start.
It sounded nice in my head, poetic even, but I wasn’t sure I believed it yet.
I had already made up my mind—I wasn’t here to make friends. I didn’t want that kind of distraction, not now. I had Ridhi. Ridhi Choudhary—my bestest friend, my backbone, the one person who knew me when I was soaring and when I shattered. That was enough. More than enough.
I didn’t need to pretend I was okay for anyone else.
I took slow steps toward the bus stop, the kind that looked casual from the outside, but were actually heavy with hesitation. The city’s morning noise melted into the background, but my mind—my mind was louder than ever.
My thoughts have always had a life of their own. 24/7, non-stop. Questions. Fears. Echoes of things I wish I could forget. They crowd my mind, always stirring, always pushing, never letting me breathe in peace. Even now, as I stood beneath the shade of the bus stop tree, I couldn’t escape them.
What are you doing here, Sanem? You weren’t meant for this course. You had a future, remember? You scored 189 in JEE Mains. That was brilliant. You were a topper. You were meant for more. And yet, here I was. Not in NIT. Not in some glowing, perfect life. But about to board a bus to a college I never even wanted to see. I let out a breath. Not because I felt calm—but because I had to keep moving. If I stopped, I might fall apart. So I stood tall. Wore my cream oversized t-shirt, gray jeans, white shoes, ponytail neat and high. From the outside, I looked ready. On the inside, I was still rebuilding.
My mumma, Tejaswini Sehgal, was the one who dropped me at the bus stop.
She’s the kind of person who can turn even the smallest thing into a full-blown emotional movie inside her head. An overthinker—through and through. Fond of getting panicked over everything, like it’s a secret hobby she never talks about. Loving, yes. Bubbly, absolutely. But confused at the core. She struggles to make clear decisions, her heart always pulling her in three directions at once. She gives up quickly too, exhausted by her own mind before life even has the chance to defeat her.
Today, she stood beside me at the stop, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes flickering nervously from me to the road and back. As if the bus would forget to come just because her daughter needed it most. I didn’t say much. Neither did she. Some goodbyes are too heavy to put into words, even when you know you’ll see each other again in a few hours. When the bus finally rumbled into view, my heart jumped in my chest—a strange mix of dread and duty. Mumma touched my shoulder lightly, a half-blessing, half-warning, all love. I smiled. The kind of smile you wear like armor.
I climbed into the bus, the steps feeling a little too steep, the handles a little too cold. I found a seat near the window, dropped my bag onto the floor, and leaned back, pressing my forehead lightly against the cool glass. The engine roared. The wheels rolled forward. And just like that, Mumma became a small figure shrinking into the morning light. And my thoughts? They came rushing in like an uninvited flood. But I didn’t fight them this time. I had an hour to reach Vayura University. An entire hour where no one expected anything from me. No conversations. No performances. No pretending. So I allowed my mind to take over. To roam, to ache, to scream in silence. Memories. Regrets. Versions of myself I no longer recognized. Dreams I once held like sacred promises—now lying like broken glass inside my heart. And yet, somewhere beneath all that noise, a stubborn little voice whispered:
Sanem, you’re still here.
And maybe, for now, that was enough.
