The hostel admission was finally here.
For months, everyone had been talking about it as if it was the next big chapter of my life. My bags were packed. The documents were ready. The plans had already been made.
All that was left was for me to go.
Before leaving, I had to say goodbye to everyone.
I thought it would be easy.
It wasn't.
The moment I started meeting relatives, the reality of it hit me.
My aunt cried.
My grandmother cried.
My grandfather tried to stay composed, but I could see the sadness in his eyes.
They kept praying for me, but hidden within those prayers was another wish. A wish they never said directly.
They wanted me to stay.
At the time, I didn't fully understand why they were so emotional.
I wasn't leaving forever.
I was only leaving for studies.
Everyone else spoke about opportunities, success, rankings, and the future waiting for me.
But the people who loved me most seemed to be thinking about something entirely different.
They weren't worried about my future.
They were worried about me.
That thought stayed with me throughout the journey.
The closer we got to the hostel, the heavier my thoughts became.
My father spoke about how this could be a fresh start.
A new state.
A new environment.
A chance to become more confident.
A chance to become someone new.
Part of me wanted to believe him.
But another part of me kept asking a question I couldn't ignore.
Why was I going?
Every answer I found belonged to someone else.
For studies.
For success.
For NEET.
For my future.
For opportunities.
None of them felt like my own answer.
The hostel was never really my dream.
The career attached to it wasn't my dream either.
In fact, I wasn't even sure I had a dream.
For years, people had told me that marks weren't everything.
Then suddenly Class 10 arrived.
Everything changed.
Marks mattered.
Ranks mattered.
Competitive exams mattered.
My future seemed to shrink into a path that had already been chosen for me.
The closer admission came, the more uncomfortable I became.
Not because I was afraid.
I had survived things much harder than a hostel.
The discomfort came from somewhere deeper.
For the first time in years, I wasn't afraid of disappointing other people.
I was afraid of disappointing myself.
And that realization stayed with me as admission drew closer and closer.