I reached Dimapur along with my dad, sitting beside him in his car. The journey had been long, tiring in its own quiet way, but neither of us complained. My dad wasn't the type to talk much, and I wasn't either. Most of the ride passed in silence, broken only by the sound of the engine and the road stretching endlessly ahead of us.
From the station, we headed straight to the place I was supposed to live in. It wasn't a hostel. My family wasn't ready for that yet—especially not for me. Instead, I'd be staying with my cousins. Cleaven, my elder cousin brother, was just a year older than me and studying too. The other brother Lorie was much older, someone everyone trusted to take care of things—of us. I guess this was my family's way of letting me go, but not completely.
When we reached the place, I took a moment to look around. It felt unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. Just… new. The rooms were simple, the surroundings quiet. Not home—but something that could become one. My cousins greeted us, casual and warm, making the place feel a little less strange. Conversations followed, bags were carried in, small instructions were given—what to do, what not to do, how things worked around here.
My dad didn't leave immediately. He stayed for a few days, helping me settle in, checking the place, making sure everything was okay. Those days felt strange—half like home, half like something new waiting to begin. He would ask small things, whether I was eating properly, whether I was sleeping on time. I answered normally, acting like everything was fine, even if I was still nervous inside.
And just like that, it was time.
My dad stood near the door, keys in hand. No long speeches. No emotional words. That wasn't him. He looked at me once and said,
"Study well. Take care of yourself."
That was it.
I nodded.
"Okay."
We didn't hug. We didn't say much else. He got into the car, started the engine, and left. I stood there watching until the car disappeared from sight. It was only then that it really hit me—I was on my own now. Not completely alone, but no longer under my parents' constant watch either.
That night passed quietly. My cousins talked, joked, went on with their routines. I listened more than I spoke, still adjusting, still settling in. Dimapur felt different—busier, louder, faster. Life here seemed to move without waiting for anyone.
By the time the day ended, I lay down thinking about tomorrow.
Tomorrow was my first day at Holy Cross—my first day of secondary school.
I felt nervous. Anyone would. But along with the nerves, there was something else too—excitement. A chance. Back then, in high school, I had too many regrets. Things I didn't say. Things I didn't do. People I couldn't face properly and bonds I almost lost .
This time, I didn't want that.
I wanted to do it right.
To talk more.
To interact.
To make friends.
To be more socially open—even if it scared me.
And maybe, someday, when I saw Lyra again, I wouldn't freeze or hide behind a screen. Maybe I'd be able to stand there, be normal, be myself—really myself—and spend time without hesitation.
With those thoughts, I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, everything would begin.
The next morning came sooner than I expected.
My first day at Holy Cross.
I got ready early, heart beating faster than usual. Nervous—but excited too. As I walked through the school gates, everything felt new. New buildings. New uniforms. New voices echoing everywhere. Faces I had never seen before passed by me, each of them already belonging here in their own way.
When I reached my classroom, I paused for a moment.
Back then, I would've gone straight to the corner. Sat quietly. Disappeared.
But this time, I didn't.
I took a seat where others were sitting and tried to interact. It wasn't easy. My words felt awkward at first, but somehow, it worked. I spoke to a few guys—simple conversations, nothing deep. Names, where we were from, random jokes. And just like that, the tension eased.
Guys are just like that.
Talk once or twice, and suddenly you're already friends.
I spent time mingling, laughing a little, trying to act normal—even when it didn't come naturally. It felt strange, but also… good.
Then came English class.
The teacher asked everyone to introduce themselves.
My turn came, and my chest tightened. Standing in front of the class felt embarrassing—my voice shaky, my thoughts messy. But I did it. I said my name, where I was from, a few basic things. It wasn't perfect, but I got through it.
And that alone felt like a win.
After class, I went out with the same group of guys I'd talked to earlier. We joked around, walked together, talked about teachers and classes like we'd known each other for longer than just a few hours.
I still couldn't interact with girls properly. That part of me hadn't changed yet. I stayed quiet, unsure, unsure of what to say.
But still—this was progress.
For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was moving forward. Slowly, yes. Awkwardly, maybe.
But forward nonetheless.
Around that time, Lyra's school had begun too.
But for her, I assume it was almost effortless.
It always was.
Mine in Dimapur.
Hers in Kohima.
Two different districts. Two different routines. No shared classrooms anymore—no casual glances, no walking out of school together. We were no longer classmates.
Just… people who once were.
Yet we still talked.
Mostly at night. Between games, tired evenings, and quiet moments. Sometimes texts. Sometimes voice messages. Sometimes just a shared pause that didn't need to be filled.
Things were different now.
Not worse.
Just different.
We talked about school—how my first day went, how awkward introductions were, how I tried sitting somewhere that wasn't the corner for once. She reacted instantly, half surprised, half amused.
"Wait—you didn't sit in the corner?? That's new."
I told her I was trying to change.
That I didn't want to repeat old patterns anymore.
She asked why.
"What patterns?"
I hesitated for a second before replying.
"Regrets."
There was a pause.
"Regrets about what?"
I smiled at the screen.
"Secret."
She didn't push.
She just sent back a short, dramatic reply.
"Wow. So you are still being Mysterious?"
I laughed quietly.
Life moving forward—like it always does.
We didn't talk like kids anymore.
And we didn't talk like strangers either.
Somewhere in between.
Two people who once shared the same place, now walking different paths—but still checking in on each other, still sharing pieces of our days.
Sometimes I thought about how strange it was.
How we once sat in the same classrooms, worried about the same exams.
And now our lives had quietly split in two directions.
But the bond hadn't disappeared.
It had just changed.
I did miss it, but it didn't scare me.
Because maybe growing up wasn't about holding on to the same things forever—
Maybe it was about learning how to move forward without losing what once mattered.
And with that thought,
Life in Dimapur truly began.