The Spark Before the Storm.

"Isn't it kind of amazing how a person who was once a stranger can suddenly, without warning, mean the entire world to you?"

People often dream of living a story worth telling—an unforgettable tale passed down to grandchildren, recounted to friends, or simply etched into memory. And for many, that story begins on their first day of college: fresh faces, strangers scrambling for friendships, last benchers forming punk gangs, others brown-nosing professors from day one, and a few—like me—who longed to find good company but somehow ended up in all the wrong ones.

If there's one truth life has taught me so far, it’s that failure is inevitable. Whether it’s falling short of our ambitions and ending up in a soul-sucking 9-to-5 job, being the disappointment our parents never talk about, or breaking the heart of the person we swore we'd never hurt—we all fail. Someday, somehow, we do.

My own story didn’t start in a place of triumph. On my first day of college, I had already lost half the battle. For three years, I’d poured myself into the dream of making it to IIT—not because engineering was my passion, but because that badge meant something. I’d studied at the best coaching institutes, scribbled late into the night, even taken a gap year to try one more time. But life, as always, had other plans.

I ended up at Gopishyam College of Engineering and Technology—a college I only knew because once, it had served as my IIT exam center. Ah, the irony.

Though the college was close to home, I opted for the hostel. After a year of living solo in Kota, I didn’t mind. I was the first to reach the hostel, and room allocation hadn’t even started. I dropped my luggage and was told to attend the first-year inauguration.

The sun was merciless, roasting the city with its full blaze. My shirt clung to my back, and my nerves made each step toward the college feel heavier. When I finally reached the gate, I looked up at the giant branding of the college—one single building trying to house every department, library, and canteen. It felt more like a shopping mall than a place of education.

I lowered my head and walked through the entrance, hoping my legs wouldn’t betray me and turn me around.

The watchman whistled and pointed toward a long queue. I joined in, regretting every moment of standing under the sun. That’s when I heard it—a voice behind me singing a song I despised. It was like a migraine had knocked on my brain.

I turned around with a fake smile and interrupted, "Hi, I’m Dev. Dev Goyal."

The guy, in a loose t-shirt and flip-flops, with a very mom-approved haircut and a slightly crooked nose, replied, "Hi Dev, I’m Ishaan."

I was glad I’d stopped the singing. But oh, what a mistake. Ishaan was a chatterbox with no off button. He bombarded me with questions, and I had no idea how much to share with this overenthusiastic stranger.

Soon the queue was asked to move toward the auditorium. Ishaan kept talking the whole way, while I zoned out repeatedly, overwhelmed by my new reality. When we reached the auditorium, he started bragging about how this very hall had featured in the movie Bhoothnath. Apparently, the college rented it out for film shoots. Great.

We took our seats, and soon a sharply dressed man with an authoritative air walked up to the stage. "Good morning, students. I am Satyanarayana Murti, the academic dean of your college," he announced, his voice booming through the hall.

Wearing an Armani coat and flashing a Rolex, the man carried himself like a CEO, scanning the audience with cold precision. A hush fell over the auditorium.

Suddenly—BAM!—the back door swung open with a bang, and all heads turned. I didn’t care at first, until Ishaan elbowed me.

Reluctantly, I pushed myself up for a better look—and time paused. There she was. A girl with a childlike grin, clutching her earlobes in mock apology as she navigated through the sea of students with a carefree bounce in her step. Her pink purse, decked with glittery stars, sparkled like a meteor shower under the auditorium lights, demanding attention without even trying.

I didn’t know what hit me—my breath caught, my pulse went rogue, and for a split second, the world seemed to blur around her. She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, but there was a magnetism in the way she smiled, a brightness that made everything else dim by comparison. My chest thudded with an unfamiliar rhythm. I wasn’t just looking at her. I was getting pulled in.

Right then, without a single word exchanged, my universe tilted. And she was its new center of gravity.

Before I could memorize her features, she had slipped into a seat at the back.

I blushed to myself. Maybe this college isn't going to be so bad after all.

The dean began lecturing on discipline and used her as an example of what not to do. I didn’t know her name, but I already felt bad for her. Day one and she was already on the dean’s radar. My instincts whispered—she’s going to be trouble.

I zoned out again, this time replaying her smile in my mind, until the thunderous applause signaling the end of the speech snapped me back. We were instructed to go to our respective classes. I kept jumping up in the crowd, hoping for one more glimpse of her. No luck.

Ishaan stuck with me through the day, still talking non-stop. But I couldn’t stop thinking of her—imagining excuses to talk to her, crafting one-liners that might make her smile.

Later, a faculty member informed us about the college's strict anti-ragging policy and announced a small welcome party hosted by our seniors.

A jolt of nervous energy surged through me. This could be it—the moment our paths crossed again.

A banner outside read: "FRESHER’S PARTY 2017." Inside, music thumped and a buffet waited like a shining oasis. I was starving, but my eyes were busy scanning the room.

The seniors were out in full dramatic flair—strutting around like peacocks, flaunting keys to their flashy bikes, name-dropping clubs like they ran secret societies, and tossing out exaggerated stories about their campus exploits. The walls were plastered with sarcastic posters that read like punchlines—images of auto drivers, vegetable vendors, and office clerks, proudly labeled as "Famous Alumni of Our College." The irony was so thick, it could’ve been served as dessert. I couldn't help but chuckle at the audacity—and oddly, I liked it.

Then I noticed a few guys nudging each other, eyes wide, pointing toward the entrance with a buzz of excitement. I turned—and the world seemed to fade into slow motion. There she was, like a frame out of a dream, stepping into the room as if the music had been waiting for her to arrive. Her presence didn’t just enter—it glided, turning the ordinary into something cinematic.

As she walked in, something stirred deep in my chest—an electric thrill, sharp and sudden, like a current zipping down my spine. My gaze locked onto her, drinking in every detail—her graceful walk, the effortless charm in her velvety-black eyes that blinked slowly, hypnotically, as if casting a quiet spell. Her crescent eyebrows lifted ever so slightly when she caught me staring, freezing me in place like a deer caught in moonlight.

Caught red-handed, I yelped inwardly. But then—she smiled. A wide, innocent, devastatingly beautiful smile.

In that moment, I knew.

It was love at first sight.

And just like that, I was ready to be doomed.