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?

Yash composes himself and slowly makes his way toward his classroom. His heart is pounding wildly. He quietly slips to the last bench, sits down, pulls out a notebook from his bag, and covers his face with it, pretending to read.

The class already has 15 to 20 girls seated—some on the front benches, some in the middle, some near the windows. They’re chatting lightly, someone opening a bag, someone sipping water, someone typing on their phone. Seeing Yash’s strange behavior, one girl smiles and nudges her friend. Then another. Soon, all eyes are on him. Their laughter starts soft, then bursts out together—some cover their mouths, some elbow each other, and a wave of giggles ripples through the room. One girl whispers, “He’s hiding behind a book like a kid caught in school!” Another adds, “Thinks we can’t see him!” Their laughter is so infectious that two more girls join in, and the classroom atmosphere turns light and playful.

The girls can’t hold back their giggles and all start laughing together.

Gradually, the rest of the students trickle in—some peeking through the door, some rushing in and dumping their bags, some calling out to friends. Every newcomer pauses at the sound of laughter, then smiles in understanding. It’s shown that Yash’s biology class has a total of 35 students—23 girls and 12 boys. The girls have claimed most of the front and middle benches, while the boys are scattered toward the back or in corners. The room fills with the scrape of chairs, the thud of bags hitting the floor, and a rising hum of conversation.

Since everyone is a stranger, small talk begins. One boy asks the guy next to him, “Bro, where you from? I’m from UP.” On the other side, girls chat about their schools—“My school was super strict; feels like freedom here,” one says, and another laughs, “Wait till we meet the teacher!” Someone checks their lunch box, someone doodles in a notebook. The vibe is warming up, like a new group forming.

Amid this, a girl sitting on the bench next to Yash turns to him. It’s Harshita—long hair, sparkling eyes, and a mischievous smile. She extends her hand. “Hi, I’m Harshita. Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

As Yash slowly lowers his notebook, his face still red, eyes downcast, Harshita recognizes him and bursts out laughing. “Oh wow! You’re the guy from the hallway earlier, right? Tripping, running like a madman, total movie scene!” Her tone is teasing but not mean.

Yash, embarrassed, lowers his head and sits quietly, his hands trembling on the notebook.

Harshita smiles and says, “Hey, don’t feel bad—you’re so innocent, man,” and laughs again. Her friends nearby join in. One says, “Seriously, why so shy? We’re all new!” Yash stammers, “L-l-look, ma’am, p-p-please forgive me, I-I can’t talk to you right now.” The words stumble out, like his tongue is stuck. This makes Harshita and her friends laugh harder. Harshita clutches her stomach. “Ma’am? I’m your age, dude!” Now others in the class start smiling; a playful mood fills the air.

Just then, the teacher suddenly enters—sari, glasses, register and marker in hand. Her walk is brisk, her voice sharp. “Everyone quiet! Sit in your places, talk later!” Silence falls instantly. The last chair scrapes stop. Introducing herself, she says, “I’m Miss Payal, your biology teacher,” and adds sternly, “If anyone has a problem with my teaching, keep it to yourself—don’t let it out of your mouth.”

Hearing this, all the boys and girls go quiet. You could hear a pin drop.

The teacher starts taking attendance.

She opens the register and calls out names—“Ankita?” “Present, ma’am,” a girl from the front replies. “Vikas?” “Here, ma’am,” a boy from the back. One by one, names echo, with slight movements—chairs shifting, pens clicking, notebooks flipping. Slowly, Yash’s turn comes. Everyone’s eyes are on the register, but Yash suddenly straightens up, pulls his shoulders back, and says in a powerful, stylish tone—as if he’s a different person—“Present, Ma’am.” His voice is deep, clear, and so confident it sends a jolt through the room.

The strength in his voice stuns everyone. Girls in front turn around, boys in the back twist their heads. The same Yash who was stammering “ma’am” minutes ago now sounds like steel. Harshita’s eyes widen, Mukesh and Sameer elbow each other. A moment of silence, then whispers—“That’s the same guy?” “Man, what swagger!”

The scene cuts to—

Outwardly, Yash looks “tough”—face stern, eyes on the board—but inside, he’s nervous. His fingers crumple the edge of his notebook, his heart racing again. Because Miss Payal is truly stunning—long hair, fair skin, sari pallu draped lightly over her shoulder, and eyes that both intimidate and captivate. Yash’s gaze keeps drifting to her, then snapping away.

From the side, Harshita leans in, smiling, and whispers—

“Whoa! What happened to your voice? You were stuttering earlier, and now… superstar!” Her eyes sparkle with mischief and admiration.

Yash gives a small smile, his voice still strong but softer now. “I wasn’t stuttering; my heartbeat was racing, so I spoke in breaks…” He chuckles lightly—his first smile in class, cute, charming, a little shy. Harshita laughs. “Oh, heartbeat issue? Got it!”

Then the class begins.

Miss Payal draws diagrams on the board, explains cell structure, her voice sharp but clear. Students take notes, pens scratching, someone asks a question and gets an instant answer. Time passes—the bell rings, it’s lunch. The room starts emptying, bags lifted, chairs pushed back. Yash glances at his classmates—the boys gathering at the back, laughing and joking. He hesitates, then slings his bag over his shoulder and joins the boys’ group.

Soon, the boys are chatting—

“Where you from, man?” “Mumbai, you?” “Delhi.” Someone talks gaming, someone cricket. Yash listens quietly, then speaks up—“I’m local, but first time in college.” His voice carries the confidence from attendance. Mukesh laughs, “Dude, you’re a hero!” Sameer adds, “And that ‘Present, Ma’am’—wow!” Yash smiles, and in his mind, he thinks—

“I never made friends growing up, always alone through school. But not anymore… now I’ll make friends, I’ll enjoy.”

All the boys are cool—

Some short and skinny, some chubby with laughing bellies. But truthfully, only Yash is perfect. His muscles show through his shirt, broad shoulders, slim waist, and that cute, charming face—light stubble, deep eyes, a smile that touches hearts. The boys surround him, talking, like he’s the center of the group.

After this, class resumes.

Post-lunch, many students head home—catching buses, autos. Only Yash, two boys—Mukesh and Sameer—and two girls—Shrishti and Harshita—remain. Miss Payal explains practicals, shows the microscope. Slowly, class ends—the bell rings, ma’am closes the register. “Test tomorrow, be prepared.”

After class, Yash heads to the washroom.

He stands in front of the mirror, splashes water on his face, fixes his hair, and smiles at himself—“Good day, Yash.” Then he grabs his bag and starts leaving college. The parking lot is sunny, bikes revving, car horns. He sees Harshita laughing with a guy on a Duke bike—black jacket, helmet in hand. The bike roars to life, smoke rises, and they speed off. Shrishti gets into her white car, turns on music, and drives away. Mukesh and Sameer ride off on their old bike, calling out—“See you tomorrow, bro!”

Yash just stands, watching everyone leave.

The parking lot empties, dust swirls, silence falls. When everyone’s gone, he starts walking home. With no money, he goes on foot. His place is about 5 kilometers away—sun beating down, traffic, roadside tea stalls. He walks slowly, bag on shoulder, sometimes looking at the sky, sometimes dusting his shoes. Finally, he reaches his room—a small rented space above a garage.

He freshens up—soap on face, comb through hair—then heads to work in the garage.

Cars are parked, tools scattered, the smell of oil. He lies under a scooter, turns a wrench, sweat pouring. By 10 p.m., he’s still working, but Yash feels no fatigue. Since childhood, he’s worked so much that his body is built for it—pure stamina. Muscles glisten with sweat, breathing steady, hands moving without pause.

Then his boss arrives—middle-aged, white shirt, glasses—and scolds him—

“Why are you working so late? Turn off the lights, go sleep!”

Yash puts down the wrench, wipes sweat, and says—

“Sir, my quota isn’t done yet, so…”

The boss puts a hand to his head and says—

“Look, only do extra when I tell you. Otherwise, just two hours at night. Plus, you’re up from 5 to 7 a.m. doing repairs anyway. Don’t tire yourself out. Go sleep.”

Yash nods, “Okay, sir…” and leaves. He organizes the tools, turns off the lights, climbs the stairs to his room.

The boss stands alone, leaning against the garage wall, thinking—

“When he was 7, he came to my garage. Tiny, dirty clothes, stubborn eyes. I shooed him away—‘You’re a kid, go.’ But he insisted, ‘Give me work, I need money.’ So I hired him. It’s been 12 years. I don’t know much about his school life, but his college life shouldn’t get ruined…”

In a way, the boss now sees Yash like his own son. He lights a cigarette, watches Yash’s shadow climb the stairs through the smoke, and smiles—“He’ll be back at 5 a.m. tomorrow.”

It was morning. The sun's rays were just peeking through the windows, and a slight cool breeze was slipping into the house. Yash had already woken up. He got out of bed, shook off the laziness, and dove into his daily chores. First, he went to his garage to do some work—maybe fixing some old stuff or checking his bicycle chain. The dusty air there and the clinking of tools gave him a strange sense of peace. After finishing, he bathed, got ready, put on clean clothes, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed to college. As soon as he stepped out, the morning bustle on the street had begun—shops were opening, people were hurrying to work.

At the bus stop, Yash caught the bus and sat down, heading to college. Sitting on the bus seat, he watched the view outside the window—roads, shops, people coming and going. When the bus stopped at a signal, Yash looked the other way. There, at the intersection, he saw some thugs brutally beating a man. The thugs had sticks in their hands and were shouting loudly. The victim was on the ground, pleading for help, but his voice was muffled. Seeing this, Yash's heart trembled. His hands and feet went cold, and sweat broke out. The people around were just standing and watching the spectacle—no one stepped forward, no one even bothered to call the police. Everyone was scared, or perhaps caring only for their own lives. The thugs left the man bloodied, laughing as they went. The sound of their motorcycles echoed far away. Yash thought to himself, "If these people ever beat me, I'll really fold my hands and beg for forgiveness, but I'll never argue or mess with them." This thought planted a deep fear in his mind, haunting him the whole way. Then, as the bus stopped in front of the college, Yash got off. The moment his feet touched the ground, he took a deep breath, as if wanting to leave the incident behind.

Inside the college, it was the same polished morning atmosphere—the campus grass was green with dew drops glistening, birds were chirping, and soft sunlight was spreading everywhere. People were talking about expensive cars—someone praising the speed of a new luxury car, someone debating a brand's price. No one seemed to know each other; everyone was in their own groups, making new friends or reminiscing about old times. Then a voice came from behind, "Hey Yash! Wait, I'm coming too." Yash turned around to see Mukesh calling him. Mukesh's face was smiling, bag slung over, running toward him. Mukesh said, "I'll walk with you." The two laughed and joked as they headed to class. On the way, Mukesh said something funny, Yash laughed, and their steps lightened. The class atmosphere was the same as yesterday—girls in groups chatting, some discussing fashion, some gossiping about the last party. Laughter and jokes echoed all around. But this time, Yash wasn't scared; he and Mukesh comfortably took their seats. As soon as he sat, Yash put his bag down and felt relief inside that everything was normal now.

After a while, all the class members gradually arrived. Some rushed in with bags slung, others chatted with friends. The creaking of chairs and light buzz of conversation filled the classroom. Then the class teacher, Madam Payal, arrived—her high-heeled sandals clicking from afar. She paused at the door, scanned the class with a smile, and walked to her seat. Seeing her, Yash smiled differently—his eyes sparkled, a slight smile on his lips, as if an old memory was refreshed. Noticing this, Harshita sitting nearby leaned over, squinting her eyes, and said, "Oho! That's hilarious—what are you laughing about so much? Tell me too." Her voice had curiosity and a bit of teasing. Yash said, "Leave it, you won't understand." He dodged the topic, opening his notebook, but the smile stayed on his face.

Then the teacher took attendance. She opened the register and called names—one by one, "Yes Ma'am" echoed from the class. After attendance, she closed the register, turned to the class, and said, "I know you all left yesterday, except a few. Now look—I don't mind if you stay for my lecture or not, but the kids who stay benefit because they won't have to do this work." Her voice had a slight warning but also encouragement. Then the teacher said sternly, "Today you have a test, and after the test, you'll get another surprise." Hearing this, silence fell over the class. All the kids were shocked—some eyes widened, some looked at each other. Except Mukesh, Sameer, Yash, Harshita, and Srishti, because they knew about the test beforehand. The five sat quietly, smiling inside.

Madam distributed the question papers. She picked up a bundle of papers from her table and walked around, giving one sheet to each student. Everyone was scared—some hands trembled, pens dropped, some stared at the blank page. But some kids weren't scared at all—they confidently twirled their pens and started. The paper was for half an hour, and the first to finish would get a prize. The clock's tick-tock now seemed louder. Hearing about the prize, Yash said, "Prize—what will it be?" He thought maybe a pen or notebook. Though Yash said it softly, his voice rose a bit, and Madam heard. She got up from her place, looked at Yash, and said, "Okay—you understood the prize part, but I won't tell now; I'll tell at the results, so don't worry." A light wave of laughter ran through the class, but Yash got embarrassed and lowered his head.

Gradually, all the kids started submitting papers. The scratching of pens, flipping of pages, and occasional deep sighs echoed in the class. Time was up—Madam checked the clock and said loudly, "Time up!" Madam collected the sheets. She gathered them from each desk, moving forward. All the kids in the class were sad because no one knew there would be a test today. Some girls were on the verge of crying, boys sat holding their heads in despair. But Yash, Harshita, Sameer, and Mukesh—they knew, and their papers went well. They looked at each other and smiled lightly. Then there were a few more classes—notes in the next lecture, a presentation, but everyone's attention was on the test results. Finally, Madam came with the result sheet and said, "Look, you all performed very poorly. But some kids got the highest marks. Take the result I'm giving, get it signed by your mom-dad at home and bring it back—or I'll come to your house myself to do it. And don't even think of faking the signature, because I have your parents' real signatures—so be careful." Her eyes scanned every student, as if warning.

All the kids got scared because they knew their scores were very low. Some even banged their foreheads seeing the result sheet. Then Madam said, "Sameer, Yash, Mukesh, Srishti, Harshita—you all took my full class yesterday, yet you couldn't top. You knew what questions were coming, still you couldn't top." Hearing this, the five were shocked. Their brows furrowed, they looked at each other. Harshita stood up and asked, "Madam, if that's the case, who topped?" Her voice had surprise and a bit of anger. Madam named them—first place Priya, second place Pinky. The class erupted in applause, but the rest were sad. And Madam gave both big diary-milk chocolates—unwrapping the shiny packing in front of everyone. Priya and Pinky jumped with joy. With that, Madam gave the result sheets and left. Her heels clicked far away. The mood of all the kids in class wasn't good, so they left slowly—some picked up bags and went out quietly, some complained to friends.

Yash quietly went to Madam and said, "Miss Payal Ma'am, can I get it signed by someone else besides my parents?" He was hesitating a bit, crumpling the result sheet in his hand. Madam said, "Look—get it signed by any elder if parents aren't there, but don't sign it yourself, okay?" Her voice was strict, but a slight smile on her face. Yash said, "Yes Ma'am." Then he picked up his bag from class and left college. Outside, the sun was setting, evening shadows spreading on campus. Outside, the same scene—Harshita was going with some good-looking guy on a bike. The guy was tall and broad, in black glasses, and Harshita was laughing and talking with him as they went. This time, Yash thought to himself, "Who could that guy be after all?" His mind was full of questions, but he left it and started walking ahead. On the road, traffic sounds, horns, and distant dog barking could be heard.

Then he reached his room. Opening the door, the warmth inside and the smell of old books welcomed him. He freshened up—bathed, changed clothes, and lay on the bed thinking about last night's talk, where his boss had said, "Just work 2 hours; after evening, you can roam as you like." His voice still echoed in his ears. Yash did the same—after two hours of work, he left at 7:30 pm. Turned off the shop lights, locked up, and stepped onto the road. Walking like that, a thought came to his mind, "What should I do after all? I don't understand." Life's questions surrounded him—college, job, friends, and uncertain future. He went to a garden. There, soft evening light fell on the green grass, some kids were playing, and the air had the fragrance of flowers. And he sat on a nearby bench. The bench was cool, he closed his eyes and breathed. Then he didn't know what to do. His mind was empty, but his heart heavy. Just then, a girl came and said, "You're sitting in my spot." Her voice was soft but firm. Yash apologized, turned back, and seeing the girl's face, said, "Hey—you're our class topper Priya, right?" His eyes widened, and lines of surprise appeared on his face. Priya smiled, books in her hand, and her hair waving in the wind.