Almost Twenty

Most people measure their lives in years.

I measured mine in CA Foundation attempts.

First attempt: Hope.

Second attempt: Determination.

Third attempt: Pressure.

Fourth attempt: Silence.

And now, at nineteen, with my fifth attempt approaching and my twentieth birthday just a few months away, I wasn't sure what scared me more—the possibility of failing again or the possibility that I had already failed myself.

The evening sky outside my window was painted in soft shades of orange and pink. It was beautiful, but I barely noticed it. My desk was covered with accountancy notes, law books, and half-finished to-do lists.

Every day looked the same.

Wake up.

Study.

Doubt myself.

Study again.

Repeat.

While scrolling through social media, I watched people my age celebrate college fests, internships, achievements, and relationships. Everyone seemed to be moving forward.

Everyone except me.

I was pursuing B.Com through distance learning while preparing for CA Foundation once again. Whenever someone asked what I was doing in life, I never knew how to answer.

Should I tell them I was preparing for my fifth attempt?

Should I tell them I wasn't even sure if I would clear it?

Or should I simply smile and change the topic?

My phone buzzed on the table.

Sameer.

A smile appeared on my face before I could stop it.

"Studying?" his message read.

I rolled my eyes.

"No, I'm climbing Mount Everest."

His reply came instantly.

"With your attention span, you wouldn't even reach the base camp."

I laughed.

Sameer had this annoying ability to make me laugh even when I didn't want to.

We had been friends for years. Somewhere between sharing notes, random late-night conversations, and endless cups of chai, he had become an important part of my life.

He was the first person I texted when something good happened.

And somehow, the first person I wanted to talk to when things went wrong.

"What happened?" he texted.

I stared at the screen.

Nothing had happened.

That was the problem.

I was tired.

Tired of comparing myself to others.

Tired of pretending I wasn't scared.

Tired of wondering whether all my efforts would ever be enough.

After a few seconds, I typed back.

"Do you ever feel like everyone is moving ahead and you're stuck in the same place?"

The typing indicator appeared immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Finally, his message arrived.

"Maybe. But being slow isn't the same as being stuck."

For a moment, I simply looked at those words.

Being slow isn't the same as being stuck.

No motivational speaker, teacher, or relative had ever managed to make me feel better with a single sentence.

Yet somehow, Sameer did.

I smiled.

"That sounded suspiciously wise."

"Don't tell anyone," he replied. "I have a reputation to maintain."

I laughed again.

Outside, the sky had turned darker.

Inside, for the first time all day, things felt a little lighter.

I didn't know what the future held.

I didn't know whether I would clear my fifth attempt.

I didn't know whether my dreams would work out the way I wanted them to.

And I definitely didn't know that one day my best friend would completely change my life.

But maybe some stories don't begin with success.

Maybe they begin with uncertainty.

Maybe they begin with a nineteen-year-old girl trying her best, even when she wasn't sure it would be enough.

And maybe that was where my story truly started.