The Road Not Taken, the Path He Chose

The summer had barely relented when Krish found himself standing at another crossroads—an invisible signpost in the dusty path of life, pointing left to Diploma and right to Intermediate. He had proven himself academically, his 10th-grade results shimmering proof of his determination. Yet at that moment, his heart felt heavy with indecision.

His mother, weary from morning chores, had sat him down that afternoon in the small courtyard of their home. "Do Intermediate, dear. That's what everyone looks at.

You'll get a seat in a good college." Her voice was gentle, yet firm with conviction.

His relatives echoed her sentiment at every family gathering:

"MPC would be better; whether it's for engineering or medicine, Intermediate provides the necessary foundation."

"People think diploma means real work,

but not the chrysalis — the full transformation happens through Intermediate."

Krish listened to everyone, his gaze fixed on the tamarind tree that cast a mottled shade across the courtyard. He thought of diploma—of hands-on learning, of growing into a technician who could see immediate results of his work, much like the paintwork he had done with his father all summer.

Yet he said nothing. His voice felt trapped in his chest, choked by the collective weight of expectation. With a nod that felt like an echo of every sigh he'd ever held back, he enrolled in Intermediate. It was the safe path, the well-trodden road. It was not the one he had quietly dreamed of.

A New Phase Begins

The gates of the Intermediate college loomed before him like the entrance to a new kingdom—one ruled by textbooks, term tests, and the promise of bright futures. As he stepped into the campus on the first day, Krish felt the mixture of relief and uncertainty swirl within him.

He wore simple clothes, nothing like the crisp, branded shirts some boys sported. His bag was sturdy but modest, and his notebook cover still bore paint splatters from the summer's work. He tried to blend in, to become just another face among hundreds.

Inside, the corridors were aflurry with energy: laughter, gossip, and the rustle of pages. Krish found his classroom, sat in an empty seat near the window, and watched as the teacher began introductions. Names flew around—lots of names, none of which he remembered long.

By the end of the first lecture, the entire class was buzzing about college life. Friends formed in clusters. Some carried designer water bottles, others boasted about tuition centers they had attended. Krish stayed quiet, making small notes in his notebook, careful not to draw attention.

The Mysterious Attempt

It was during the second week of classes when he noticed her. She stood by the water cooler, adjusting the strap of her bag, a quiet presence amid the animated chatter of her classmates. He didn't know her name. He noticed only her: how her dark hair caught the sunlight through the corridor windows; how, when she glanced around, her eyes searched for something—or someone.

Krish felt a faint twinge of curiosity.

The next day, during the free period, he lingered by the notice board, rearranging the timetable in his mind. He sensed her approach—a soft shuffle of sandals, a subtle breath of peacock-blue fabric.

"Hi..." she began, voice gentle but firm. Krish turned, startled. Their eyes met. Her gaze was neither aggressive nor shy—it was intent, exploratory.

"Do you know if the library opens after 2 PM?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, as though each word was measured. Krish blinked, searching his memory for the schedule.

"Um... yes. It does," he replied, pointing down the hallway where the library sign loomed. "Right through that door, then left."

She gave a small smile and nodded a quiet thanks before merging into the crowd. He watched her go, curiosity still fluttering in his chest, but he did not follow.

That afternoon, he heard a whisper in the corridor:

"She's new, right? I think her name is Maira."

Krish frowned. Maira. The syllables felt foreign on his tongue, yet they lodged there like a half-remembered melody.

He did not seek her out. He did not ask anyone to introduce them. In that moment, he let her remain a mystery—someone who had tried, just tried, to cross the barrier between them. And that alone felt startling.

Settling into Routine

In the weeks that followed, Krish found his feet. He attended two lectures in the morning—Physics and Chemistry—then returned home to afternoon chores, where his mother handed him a simple meal of rice and dal. He would eat quickly, wipe his lips, and slip out again to help his father at the paint shop until the sun sank low in the sky.

His studies did not suffer. Remarkably, he managed to balance college coursework with household duties, his determination fueled by silent reminders of why he was here—why he had given up his own choice of diploma and walked this path.

One evening, as he walked home under the burning hues of dusk, he thought of Maira's eyes. They had held something—something he didn't yet understand. He wondered which class she was in, whether she had an older brother who was also studying, whether she liked music or reading like him. But he dismissed the thoughts—he had chapters to write in his Physics notebook and chores waiting at home.

Shadows at Home

Home remained a place of heavy silences. His father was slipping further away into the world of alcohol, evading not only responsibility at his paint shop but also the unspoken grief in his wife's gaze.

His mother's smiles were more forced now, and Krish's heart ached for the days when they laughed together about spilled paint or his father's Geschichten in heavy Telugu accents.

He found himself growing tired, but also stronger—like a tree that bends in the wind yet remains rooted. He would cook simple rotis for them, sweep the courtyard meticulously, and sometimes lie awake at night wondering if he was enough to hold their world together.

First Glimpse of Friendship

Krish's life on campus was steady but lonely until a Friday afternoon when he found a slip of paper tucked inside his notebook:

"Library today at 4? - Maira"

He stared at the neat handwriting, heart thudding. Maira—she had written her name right, and included a question mark. It wasn't a demand; it was an invitation.

All day, he debated whether to respond. He wondered if this was the moment to push past his caution. Finally, as the clock hands crept toward the end of lectures, he scribbled beneath her note:

"Yes. See you there."

His reply was short, but it carried the weight of his silent roar: a wish to connect, albeit hesitantly.

The Library Meeting

At exactly 4 PM, Krish stepped into the college library, where rows of dusty shelves rose like ancient sentinels. He scanned the room and saw Maira sitting at a table near the back, her hijab pinned with a single silver brooch. Books lay open in front of her—Mathematics, English, and a collection of Urdu poetry.

She looked up, surprised but pleased. "Krish," she said softly, gesturing to the seat opposite.

He sat, heart unsettled but his voice steady. "Hi."

Their conversation began awkwardly—study schedules, favorite subjects, the heat of the campus. Yet with each sentence, Krish felt a subtle shift inside him. He realized he did not have to be silent or solitary. He could share his silence with someone else.

Maira listened when he spoke about the summer—the chores, his father's paint shop, his mother's worries. She didn't judge; she simply nodded and asked thoughtful questions. For a moment, Krish forgot the corridor whispers about his quietness. He felt seen.

And though he did not yet know whether this meeting would lead to friendship, trust, or something more complicated, one thing was certain: a new chapter of his life had begun.