After finishing my higher secondary, life opened a door — not wide, but just enough for me to step through.
I left Harmutty with a heavy heart and a light bag. My destination: Golaghat, for further studies under Dibrugarh University. A place far from home — not just in distance, but in feeling.
Thirteen hours.
Alone.
That train ride was the beginning of my becoming.
The train moved slow at first, like my heart unsure of what was coming. The seats felt cold, the windows dusty, and the silence around me louder than the engine.
I didn't speak to anyone. I just wore my earbuds, played my music, and stared out the window as the world passed me by.
The tracks stretched endlessly, and so did my thoughts.
The scenery changed — forests faded into open fields, towns whispered past in blur, and the sky kept watching like a silent guardian.
I was scared.
But I didn't show it.
I was excited.
But I didn't know how to smile at the time.
In that solo journey, I met the real "me" — not the one people saw, but the one who feels deeply, watches quietly, and carries a thousand emotions behind calm eyes.
Stepping into the hostel was like stepping into a new version of life. No mother's call for breakfast. No father's voice in the background. No familiar walls. No scent of home.
I had to be my own guardian. My own guide. My own silence.
Nights felt longer. Meals tasted lonelier. And yet, I grew.
I learned how to live — to wash, to cook, to survive.
To miss.
To cry without sound.
To laugh without anyone asking why.
And in all that, I became emotionally strong. Not cold — just calm.
Like the river I used to visit, I kept flowing.
But even a flowing river sometimes finds a new stream to join.