Hello My name is Yashraj. Or you could say, Yash.
I live in Raipur district, Chhattisgarh.
The lanes of Raipur have known me since childhood—dusty roads, the distant whistle of a train, and the evening bustle of the market as dusk falls.
If I talk about my past, I have no one.
Yes, you heard it right—I'm an orphan.
I've never known anything about my parents since childhood.
All I know is that I grew up in an orphanage right here in Raipur.
The orphanage was on the outskirts of the city—fields all around, greenery stretching far into the distance.
The bell would ring every morning, everyone lined up, food was served—dry roti, thin dal.
I never made any friends there.
I couldn't mix with anyone.
Other kids played, laughed, fought—I sat in a corner flipping through books.
In a way, I've always been alone.
Nights felt the longest—water dripping from cracks in the ceiling, dogs barking outside.
Somehow, I completed my school life.
The school was a little distance from the orphanage—I walked every day, sometimes took the bus if I had saved a few coins.
Teachers would say, "Yash, work a bit harder."
I'd smile, but inside I was scared—fail and they might throw me out of the orphanage.
Now I've left the orphanage and live in a small room
that belongs to the owner of the garage where I work part-time.
The garage is in a busy part of the city—car noises, the smell of oil, and the owner's scolding.
"Yash, where's that spanner? Hurry up!"
I don't have to pay rent.
No electricity bill either—
because the room is the owner's.
The room is tiny—a cot, a table, and an old calendar hanging on the wall.
When the garage closes at night, I go upstairs.
My earnings barely cover my expenses.
Breakfast at the tea stall in the morning, something at the garage in the afternoon, cheap vegetables from the market in the evening.
At the end of every month, I count the money—how much is left, how much to save for college fees.
In studies, I'm neither a topper
nor at the bottom.
I'm somewhere in the middle.
But books are my companions—history's stories, science's mysteries, and sometimes novels I secretly borrowed from the orphanage library.
I remember the last day of school—passed, but no one clapped for me.
But.
From today, a new chapter of my life begins.
Yes, you heard right—
my college life is starting.
The college is right in the heart of the city—big buildings, green lawns, and crowds of students.
First day—I woke up early, put on an old shirt, stuffed books into my bag.
Stood at the bus stop, heart pounding—will anyone talk to me? Will I fit in?
And this time, I'm truly happy.
Happiness feels strange—not an old memory, but a new hope.
Because I don't know
what lies ahead.
I just know—
this time, life will be different.
Maybe a classmate will sit beside me, maybe a book in the library will touch my heart,
maybe a smile will break my loneliness.
Raipur's streets feel new now—there's a scent of change in the air.
Yash's story is just beginning.
Yash stands in front of the college gate.
A heavy iron gate, with "Chhattisgarh College" written above.
Morning sunlight falls on the gate, its shadow stretching to Yash's feet.
He takes a deep breath to calm himself—one, two, three.
Then slowly steps inside the college.
Inside, there's a huge crowd—
boys, girls, laughter, chatter, and the glow of new faces.
Some boys with bags slung over their shoulders, laughing on their phones as they walk.
Girls in groups, fixing each other's hair, taking selfies.
The college's name was "Chhattisgarh College,"
where some arrived in big cars—white Scorpio, black Fortuner, honking as they entered.
Others stepped out of their cars in style—door slamming shut, keys twirling.
Yash's heart was pounding—thump-thump, thump-thump.
But he steadied himself and started walking forward.
Though his dressing was good—
he had bought new clothes and shoes with his saved money.
White shirt, blue jeans, black shoes—all new, neatly ironed.
In his bag: two books, a pen, and a small notebook.
He was a little nervous, but kept a faint smile on his face as he moved ahead—like saying, I belong here too.
Yash asked the guard,
"Bhaiya, where is the first-year Biology department?"
The guard in khaki uniform, mustache twirled, smiled and replied,
"Go straight across this ground, son.
The building ahead—three stories, blue in color—
your class is on the second floor.
Room number thirty-seven."
Yash said, "Thank you, bhaiya," and headed toward his classroom.
He was a full week late to college—
delay in paying fees, extra work at the garage, missed the bus.
So inside, he felt a bit ashamed—
everyone will think I'm the latecomer. Bad impression on the first day.
As he walked, a thought crossed his mind—
in my old school, it was only boys—
forty boys in class, not a single girl.
Hope it's not like that here.
At least two—no, four beautiful girls should be there.
Thinking this, he reached his classroom.
His shoes echoed on the stairs—tap-tap, tap-tap.
Second floor, long corridor, posters on the walls—"Blood Donation Camp," "Freshers Party."
Room number thirty-seven's door was half open.
As soon as he pushed it fully open—
inside, about fifteen to twenty girls were sitting and chatting.
Some on chairs, some standing, some leaning against the wall.
Laughter, a faint scent of perfume, the jingle of bangles.
Yash froze for a few seconds—eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
He immediately stepped back out and checked the room number—
Room number thirty-seven.
Then he whispered to himself,
"Yes, this is my class.
Biology. Girls.
Did I really come to the right place?"
Now Yash's heartbeat was even faster—
like a drum beating in his chest.
His palms were slightly sweaty,
fingers cold.
And only one question circled in his mind—
should I go in… or run away? (Thinking)