Chahat decided to go for a morning walk, hoping the fresh air would help her start the day with a clear mind. As she stepped outside, the sun cast its soft, golden glow over the world, its rays blanketing the greenery in a warm, ethereal light. The nascent leaves of spring, delicate and paper-thin, shimmered as they soaked in the warmth. The air carried a gentle heat—tepid, neither too cold nor too warm—while the dampness of a recent snowfall still lingered on the ground, sinking into the dark, rich earth.
The trees around her thrummed with life. Birds flitted between the branches, their chirps forming a symphony of nature's music, while squirrels scurried playfully, chasing each other in an endless dance.
Chahat took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the crisp morning air. This—this magic of nature—was what reminded her of her mother. It was something she could never let go of.
After a refreshing walk, she returned home, freshened up, and had her breakfast before heading to college. Today marked her second day, but the weight of yesterday's impressions still clung to her thoughts. The disdain in some of her classmates' eyes was hard to ignore. She was an orphan, and that single word seemed to define her in their eyes, as though it stripped her of every other aspect of her existence.
On her way to college, she noticed something unusual—an array of luxurious cars making their way toward the campus. Each vehicle gleamed under the morning sun, their polished surfaces reflecting the surroundings like mirrors. It was a stark contrast to the ordinary buses and motorcycles that filled the rest of the road.
When she arrived, she observed that the individuals who had stepped out of those luxury cars bypassed the usual crowd of students and walked straight to the principal's office. But Chahat didn't get a clear glimpse of them. Whoever they were, they were heavily guarded, their presence shrouded by layers of security.
Pushing the thought aside, she entered her classroom. Unfortunately, the treatment she received today was no different from the first day. Most of her classmates barely acknowledged her presence, their silent indifference louder than any words.
Just as she was about to take a seat in an empty row, a girl waved at her, gesturing for her to sit beside her. Chahat hesitated for a moment, then walked over and took the offered seat, grateful for at least one welcoming gesture.
Their first class was English. The instructor, a middle-aged woman named Savita, stood at the front of the room with an air of quiet authority. She introduced herself before asking each student to do the same. As one by one, her classmates spoke, Chahat noticed how their voices carried different emotions—confidence, nervousness, arrogance, and indifference.
When it was her turn, she introduced herself briefly. She could feel the subtle shift in the air when she mentioned she was an orphan, but she chose to ignore it.
After the introductions, Professor Savita launched into the actual lesson, her voice carrying an undeniable passion for literature. Her eloquence held the class captive, weaving words into a mesmerizing tapestry of knowledge. Even those who had been distracted earlier found themselves drawn into her lecture.
Meanwhile, in the principal's office, an entirely different conversation was unfolding.