Until I met Him

It was a bright morning. I was just passing through the school corridors, walking down from the first floor to the ground floor for some academic work. And that’s when I saw him—a new face, someone I had never seen before. He looked like a new admission.

We crossed each other, just another ordinary passing moment… except it wasn’t. Our eyes met—maybe for 0.99 seconds. And somehow, in that tiny moment, something shifted. I didn’t know what it was back then, but I could feel it. A strange kind of awareness. And that was the moment I knew—somewhere deep down—that I was going to mess up the rest of my school life.

Hi, I’m Ananya. And what I’m about to tell you isn’t a fairytale. It’s more like a rollercoaster—of emotions, mistakes, realizations, and everything in between.

I’ve always been a competitive and proud kid. Back then, I never really questioned it. In fact, I thought that’s what made me better. It was only much later, after meeting all kinds of people, that I started realizing how indecisive—and honestly, how unintentionally rude—I had been to others.

But that realization didn’t come all at once.

It was my first day of high school. I was nervous, obviously, but also excited. New place, new people, new friendships… or at least that’s what I expected. I thought this was going to be my chance to start fresh and build meaningful connections.

But life had other plans.

Instead of friendships, it felt like I had walked straight into karma.

You might be wondering what I did to deserve that. Well… long story short, in middle school, I was way too full of myself. Not without reason—at least that’s what I used to believe.

I wasn’t just an average student, I was one of the best. My mom was a teacher, I was constantly surrounded by seniors who treated me like their little sister, and I was always getting attention, appreciation, validation…

And slowly, without even realizing it, all of that got to my head.

I started believing I was… special.

I saw myself as the main character. I mean, everyone is the main character in their own life, right? But I took it a little too far. I stopped valuing people the way I should have.

If someone was even slightly better than me at something, I’d feel jealous. And instead of improving myself, I’d talk about them behind their back—even if they were my friends.

At that time, I genuinely thought I cared about friendships. I thought I was a good friend.

But looking back now… I wasn’t. Not really.

And then, life decided to humble me.

My dad got transferred, and just like that, everything changed. We moved from Delhi to an entirely new place—Hyderabad. New city, new language, new people… everything unfamiliar.

At first, I was excited. It felt like a fresh start. A chance to meet new people, make new friends—and of course, carry forward my so-called “main character energy.”

But reality hit differently.

If I’m being honest, I was never really the main character in anyone else’s story. If anything, I might have been the annoying friend… or even the villain in someone else’s version.

And no, I wasn’t a bad person. I was just… immature. A little unaware. A little too proud for my own good.

So there I was—new school, new beginning.

And then came another moment that fed my ego.

On my first day, I was introduced to the class by the principal. There were so many new admissions at the same time, but I was the only one who got that kind of introduction.

At that moment, it felt like a spotlight was on me. And honestly, as a teenager, those small things feel like everything.

It was 10th grade. I thought I’d easily make friends, maybe even become someone people looked up to—like I always believed I could.

But this time, things were different.

My mom wasn’t a teacher in this school. There was no familiar environment, no special treatment, no invisible support system backing me up.

For the first time, I had to be just… me.

People were nice, though. Slowly, I started becoming friends with everyone. It wasn’t easy at first because of the language barrier. Most of them spoke in their native language or English.

And I don’t like saying this, but my English was not actually good… which somehow became a reason for teasing. The boys in my class used to call it “Butler English.” It was their thing.

I laughed along most of the time, pretending it didn’t affect me. But sometimes, it did.

There were days I’d come home, act completely normal, and then quietly cry in the bathroom so my parents would never know what really happened at school.

I think I hid my emotions because I didn’t want to look weak. I had always seen myself as strong, confident… someone who didn’t get affected by small things.

But deep down, I did.

Even though I was so self-centered back then, there was still a part of me that craved something real. I wanted genuine friendships. Not the kind where people stayed around me because I was useful or had information—but the kind where people actually cared.

I wanted people to come to me to share their happiness, their problems… the way I tried to go to them.

But now that I think about it, I understand why they didn’t.

I had a big mouth. I couldn’t keep things to myself. I would unintentionally share secrets, and slowly, people stopped trusting me with their personal things.

And trust… once lost, is hard to earn back.

I know I sound like a spoiled kid. But I wasn’t, really.

I just cared too much about my pride… and too little about people’s feelings.

But being in that new school, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, slowly forced me to reflect. To see myself without the filters I had created.

And for the first time, I started understanding who I really was.

For a while, everything felt like it was finally settling down. Like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.

Until I met him.