Aaradhya stepped out of the train, the chilly December air of Bihar brushing against her face. The familiar scent of home—of burning firewood, freshly cooked sweets, and the comforting warmth of her family—filled her senses. Winter break had finally begun, a short respite before the storm of pre-boards, farewells, and final exams would take over her life.
Her mother and sister stood waiting at the platform, their faces lighting up the moment they saw her.
"Didi!" her younger sister, Ishita, ran forward, hugging Aaradhya tightly. Their mother smiled, her eyes filled with pride and affection.
"You must be hungry," she said, adjusting Aaradhya's shawl. "Let's go home."
At home, all her favorite dishes were spread over the dining table. The moment she reached there, she was not able to resist the smell that filled her nose. She took a plate and served herself with Sattu Pratha (Partha filled with gram flour), baigan bharta, and kheer.
The days at home were precious but fleeting. Between catching up with family and revisiting childhood haunts, she found herself shopping for her farewell sarees—one for her hostel farewell and another for the school's.
At the store, she stood in front of the mirror, draping the sarees one after another, twirling slightly as her mother and sister watched.
"This one suits you best," her mother said, holding up an elegant navy-blue saree with intricate silver embroidery. "It brings out your elegance."
"But this green one makes you look like a queen," Ishita chimed in.
Aaradhya laughed, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "I guess I have two looks now—regal and elegant."
"But the one that you feel most confident in," her father said
They got one saree, and she did not get another saree of her choice in the market today, so she decided to go again tomorrow and look for it.
But to her surprise, her second saree, a beautiful crimson one, was gifted by her grandfather. The moment he handed it to her, she felt an unusual weight in her heart.
"You must look your best, beta," he said, patting her hand with a gentle but firm grip. "I may not be around for much longer, but I want to see you shine before I go."
Tears welled up in Aaradhya's eyes. "Dadaji, don't say that. You're not going anywhere."
He smiled knowingly. "Time waits for no one, child. But I know you will make me proud, no matter where you go."
She hugged him tightly, her heart aching at the thought of losing him. That saree became more than just a farewell outfit—it was a reminder of love, of blessings, of moments she would cherish forever.
Soon, her brief visit home came to an end. Back in Delhi, the pre-boards arrived in full force, consuming her in a whirlwind of studies and exams. When the results were announced, she had secured the highest marks in the science section.
That night, she called her parents to share the news.
"Engineering or medical," her father said matter-of-factly. "That's where the brightest students go. You have the potential to do either."
Aaradhya remained silent for a moment. "But I don't like numbers," she admitted. "Math has never been my favorite."
Her mother chuckled. "Then medical it is. You always loved biology."
Aaradhya sighed. "I suppose so. It's not like I have much choice."
Then came the hostel farewell—a night filled with laughter, nostalgia, and bittersweet memories. The juniors had prepared dances, and a play recreating their most memorable hostel moments had everyone roaring with laughter and tearing up in equal measure.
Sitting with her closest friends, Aaradhya watched as the final act played out. "I can't believe we're leaving this place," she murmured.
"Neither," Priya said, her voice thick with emotion. "Remember the first time we snuck out for late-night snacks?"
Riya laughed. "And got caught by the warden!"
"And let's not forget Aaradhya's legendary speech when she defended us all!" Meera added.
Aaradhya smiled, her heart swelling with memories. "We've lived so much together. How do we just leave it all behind?"
The school farewell passed in a blur. They dressed up, clicked pictures, and promised to stay in touch.
"We'll never forget each other, right?" Aaradhya asked as they stood in a circle.
"Of course not!" one of them said.
"Even if life gets in the way, we'll always be family," another added.
Then came the final day—board exam day. A teacher escorted them to the exam center, offering words of encouragement. Hours later, the bell rang for the last time, signaling the end of an era. When they stepped out, their hostel warden was waiting to take them back, but none of them moved immediately. They stood there, absorbing the moment, reluctant to let go.
Back at the hostel, packing up felt surreal. The emptying cupboards, the folded bedsheets, the discarded notes—it all screamed of endings. Aaradhya turned to her friends, her roommates, the people who had been with her through every sleepless night, every moment of joy and despair.
"This is it," someone whispered.
Eyes glistened with unshed tears. Hugging each other tightly, they let the emotions flow freely. "No matter where we go, we'll always be family," Aaradhya said, her voice breaking.
That night, as she lay on her bed for the last time, she stared at the ceiling, memories flashing before her eyes. Change was inevitable, and she had to embrace it. But one thing was certain—she would never forget the years spent here, the friendships forged, the love shared. This place, these people, would always be a part of her.
And with that, the first chapter of her new journey began.