CHAPTER 1 — First Day of My Coaching
I was fifteen when everything changed. I had just entered 11th standard, stumbling through the confusing middle years of my teenage life, and suddenly I found myself standing in front of a new coaching institute. New building. New teachers. New students. A new environment that felt too big for me.
And honestly? I was scared.
I kept asking myself, “What if I don’t make any friends? What if they think I’m strange? What if I end up sitting alone every day?”
The fear stayed with me from the moment I woke up.
My alarm rang at 7:00 a.m., dragging me out of my worries. By 9:00 a.m., I was ready to leave—hair half done, confidence half broken, but still determined to show up. When I reached coaching, the corridors were already filled with students who looked like they belonged there. I felt like the only outsider.
I wandered around, trying to find my batch room, until a boy noticed my confusion and helped me. After thanking him, I walked in and found an empty seat on the fifth bench. I sat alone, feeling invisible in a room full of people.
A few minutes later, a girl sat beside me. She gave me a warm smile, and somehow we started talking. Her presence felt comforting, and she eventually became like a sister to me. She later introduced me to another girl, and when I heard her name, I was shocked—it was the same name as my old best friend. The coincidence made us laugh and helped ease the awkwardness of our first meeting.
Soon, our teacher entered the classroom. He was polite, calm, and gentle in a way that instantly made me feel safer. After a quick round of introductions, the class began.
My nervousness didn’t disappear. In fact, my “first-day luck” only got worse. The teacher called on me, and when I tried to answer his question, my mind went blank. The moment I said the wrong answer, every pair of eyes turned toward me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.
But the teacher didn’t scold me. He explained the answer kindly, and I managed to answer correctly the second time.
The next teacher who came in was even more humble. I had never met someone so soft-spoken and understanding, and surprisingly, his name was similar to mine. Somehow, his presence made the class feel lighter. After the session ended, I walked back home with mixed feelings—half embarrassed, half satisfied. My first day hadn’t been perfect, but it wasn’t as bad as I had feared.
Weeks passed. I made more friends, grew more comfortable, and started feeling like I belonged. Coaching didn’t feel like a strange place anymore. It felt almost warm.
But comfort never lasts long.
One afternoon, out of nowhere, my batch got changed. Everything started over—new classmates, new teachers, new seats, new routine. I shifted batches for some valid reasons, but people misunderstood me. A boy from my old batch had switched earlier, and after he moved, I changed too. That was enough for classmates to make assumptions.
They whispered that I had changed batches because of him.
But that wasn’t true.
I didn’t have a crush on him. I had already moved past those feelings long before.
On the first day in my new batch, I found myself again on the last bench—almost like destiny loved placing me at the back. I sat beside a cute, sweet girl who greeted me shyly. For a moment, I thought maybe this batch wouldn’t be that bad.
But history has a habit of repeating itself.
The teacher asked me another question.
And just like my very first day…
I didn’t know the answer.
My face burned again, but somewhere deep inside, I told myself:
“This is just the beginning.”
