The Gate

...Evelyn ...

The iron gates of Altbridge University towered before me like the entrance to another life.

I stood still for a moment, luggage tugging at my shoulder, a light breeze catching the hem of my t-shirt. Around me, students moved in knots—some laughing too loudly, others dragging oversized suitcases or calling their parents with that performative cheerfulness that meant don’t worry, I’m fine.

I wasn’t fine.

I was excited, sure. But nervous enough to feel the sweat forming under my collar.

For the first time in my life, I was far from home. No unannounced check-ins, no overly specific questions like “Did you eat the second chapati or just one?” from my mom. My father hadn’t looked directly at me while dropping me off, just muttered something like “call if you need anything” as he handed me my ID folder.

I closed my eyes and took a breath that was deeper than I expected.

“You’ll be alright,” I whispered to myself. The words left my mouth like I was trying to prove I could speak at all.

And then I stepped forward.

The main campus was larger than I imagined — red-brick buildings tangled in ivy, courtyards blooming with stubborn summer flowers, the smell of something fried wafting from the canteen in the distance. My sneakers crunched gravel as I followed the campus map printed on my phone screen like a lifeline.

Inside the Engineering and Technology building, the air was cooler. Sterile. The buzz of fluorescent lighting overhead reminded me of hospitals and exam rooms. I found the elevator — scratched buttons, one blinking LED — and took it up to the floor my schedule had mentioned.

Outside the classroom, the hallway was mostly empty. I checked the time: still five minutes to go. I stood by the door, trying to look casual while secretly panicking about where to keep my hands.

That’s when I saw her.

A girl stood a few feet away, scrolling her phone. She had short, neat curls that bounced when she moved, and a purple canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She looked alone. Like me.

I cleared my throat, then immediately regretted how loud it was.

“Hi, uh—are you from Batch 4?”

She flinched, just a little, startled. Then her eyes met mine and softened.

“Oh! Yeah, I am,” she said, then added, “You too?”

“Yeah. I’m Evelyn .”

She smiled. “Diana. Nice to meet you.”

There was a short pause. I shifted my weight to my other foot. She glanced toward the classroom door, then back at me. “I thought I was early, but… guess I wasn’t the only one.”

That small line relaxed me more than anything else had all morning.

Soon, more students trickled in — some loud, some blinking sleep from their eyes. Diana and I exchanged names with a few, and by the time we entered the lecture hall, I was walking beside her like we’d known each other a full week instead of eight minutes.

Inside, the classroom had that strange energy — people trying to appear calm while scanning every face, every voice. As the lecturer walked in and began his slow, clipped introduction to the course, I barely heard a word. I was too focused on finding people I might talk to again.

And then it happened.

By the time we left class and headed toward the canteen, there were four girls walking together — Diana, Crystal (who had this bold ear ring and an even bolder laugh), Ava (who carried a laptop like it was part of her body), and Sofia (quiet, but always observing — I could tell she’d memorized the seating chart already).

We sat around a steel table in the canteen. The place smelled like coffee, masala, and something fried that had definitely been reheated. My tray sat untouched while the girls debated whether the lecturer had been vague or just boring.

“So, did he actually say what percentage our assignments count for?” Ava asked, stirring her drink with one of those little spoons that serve no purpose.

“He said ‘you’ll be evaluated holistically,’” Crystal mimicked in a sleepy drone. “Which means: I make up the numbers.”

Laughter. Even Sofia cracked a smile.

I was smiling too, quietly, when I felt it.

A weight. A pressure. Not physical — more like a temperature shift.

I looked up instinctively.

Across the canteen, near the far corner by the vending machine, stood a boy. No—man. Maybe a senior. Tall. Wiry. Dark shirt, darker eyes. His jaw was sharp enough to look like a drawing, and he wasn’t smiling.

He was staring straight at me.

For a moment, our eyes locked. The noise around me dropped out.

Then Ava’s voice brought me back. “Evelyn ? What about you — do you code already or are you totally new to it?”

I blinked. “Uh… somewhere in between,” I mumbled, eyes darting back to the corner.

But the guy was gone.

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