Chapter 4: The First Day in Class

The morning came slowly again.

But today… it felt a little different.

This wasn't like the other mornings he had spent quietly in this small hostel room. Today was the day his real journey would start. Today was his first day in class.

He woke up before anyone knocked on his door.

The sun wasn't even fully bright outside. The sky still looked sleepy, and so did the buildings outside his small window.

He sat up slowly on his bed. Rubbed his eyes.

Looked at the clock. Still early.

But he couldn't sleep anymore. His heart was already moving faster than the hands of that old clock on his wall.

He went to the bathroom, washed his face with cold water. The water woke him up, but his face in the mirror still looked a little tired. His eyes didn't lie — they showed a mix of nervousness and quiet hope.

He brushed his teeth slowly, cleaned up neatly.

Today wasn't the day to look messy. Today mattered.

He wore his uniform.

The same one he had ironed carefully last night.

The same shirt his mother would have called "simple but smart."

The same pants his father would have said "fits well."

He buttoned it up carefully. Fixed his collar. Smoothed his sleeves.

Looked at himself in the mirror one more time.

"You look okay," he said softly to himself.

Not handsome. Not perfect.

But okay.

And sometimes… okay is enough.

He went down for breakfast.

Same dining hall. Same faces. Same silence.

Bread. Boiled egg. A cup of tea that tasted like nothing.

He ate quietly. Didn't talk. Didn't look around much.

Rey wasn't with him this morning. Maybe Rey had gone early with his friends.

Or maybe Rey didn't need company like him.

After finishing breakfast, he picked up his bag. Put his notebook inside. Some pens. Nothing else.

Today, he would walk to school alone.

Step by step.

Breath by breath.

The road felt the same as before. Busy, noisy, crowded.

People walking fast. Cars honking without patience.

No one looking at him. No one caring where he was going.

But he walked anyway.

Slowly. Calmly.

Watching the buildings, the wires above his head, the sky that seemed too far away again today.

When he reached the school, something felt different.

Yesterday it was full of colors, decorations, smiles.

Today… it looked normal again.

The banners were gone.

The flowers were removed.

The chairs were stacked away.

Now it looked like what it truly was — a place for study.

A place where people came to shape their futures, not celebrate them.

Students moved in groups, laughing, talking, pushing each other like old friends do.

He walked quietly among them. Alone.

No one noticed him. No one greeted him.

He wasn't surprised. This wasn't his village where everyone knew your name.

He found his way to his class.

The room number written clearly outside the door.

He stood there for a moment. Took a breath.

"It's okay," he told himself. "Just go in."

---

Inside the classroom, everything felt big.

The room was bright, clean, new.

Desks lined up neatly. Boards shining with fresh markers.

Students were already there. Sitting in groups. Talking. Laughing.

Some had known each other from before.

Some didn't care about anyone new walking in.

He looked around. Quietly. Carefully.

No empty seat in the back. Only one near the window.

He walked there. Sat down.

Placed his bag gently beside his chair.

Opened his notebook even though class hadn't started.

He didn't want to look lost. He didn't want to look like he didn't belong.

So he stared out the window.

The sky outside still looked distant.

Buildings taller than clouds.

Wires running like veins across the horizon.

No birds here. No trees waving. Just stone, glass, people in a hurry.

For a moment, he thought about home.

His mother's quiet steps.

His father's serious face turning soft when no one looked.

The river, the soil, the smell of the kitchen.

He smiled a little.

Softly. Sadly.

But this was life now.

The teacher walked in.

A woman, middle-aged, kind face behind tired eyes.

She smiled as she introduced herself. Told them her name. Her subject.

Talked about how important this year would be.

"This is where your dreams begin to take shape. Not through magic. Not through luck. Through hard work. Through showing up. Through trying, again and again."

He listened quietly.

Wrote down her name, her subject, her words.

Other teachers came and went.

Each one with their own way of speaking. Some strict. Some kind. Some boring.

He listened to all of them. Wrote notes carefully.

He noticed some students weren't listening. Some joked. Some whispered. Some stared at the clock, waiting for freedom.

But he didn't care about them.

He wasn't here to impress anyone.

He was here because he had promised himself.

Because his parents had trusted him.

Because his village still waited to hear good news from the boy they had sent to the city.

Lunchtime came.

He walked to the canteen alone.

Ordered the simplest food. Sat at the corner table.

No one joined him.

No one looked his way.

Other students laughed loudly. Shared food. Pulled each other's chairs like old friends do.

He watched quietly.

Chewed slowly.

He thought,

"Maybe one day… someone will sit here with me too."

He missed home again.

Missed his mother's cooking.

Missed the way meals at home weren't just about food, but about love, about sitting together, about talking even if there was nothing to say.

But this was the city.

People here ate fast. Talked fast. Lived fast.

He finished his meal quietly.

Returned to class.

The afternoon passed slowly.

Lessons began properly now.

Teachers writing on boards. Students copying. Pages turning.

He followed every word, even when he didn't fully understand.

He wrote carefully. Underlined neatly.

He wanted to do well.

He wanted to make himself proud, not just his village.

When the bell finally rang, the classroom emptied fast.

He packed his bag slowly.

Stepped outside.

The sky looked the same.

Distant. Grey. Covered in wires.

He walked back to the hostel alone.

Same roads. Same people not seeing him. Same buses rushing past.

Back in his room, he hung his uniform neatly.

Laid on his bed.

Stared at the ceiling.

His body felt tired. His heart felt quiet.

But he didn't cry.

He just breathed.

Slowly.

Picked up his notebook. Wrote softly on the first page:

"First day done. I didn't run away. That's enough for now."

He called home again.

His mother picked up.

"How was your first day?"

Her voice was soft as always.

He told her small things.

About the teachers.

About the food.

About how no one spoke to him much, but it was okay.

His father listened in silence.

Then said,

"Slowly, you'll feel at home there too."

His mother said,

"We're proud of you, no matter what."

Her words felt like light inside his chest.

Like a soft hand on his head, even through the phone.

They said goodbye with small smiles.

With promises to call again soon.

He ironed his uniform again for tomorrow.

Folded it carefully.

Looked at himself in the mirror once more.

"One day at a time," he whispered.

Before sleeping, he stood by the small window.

Looked at the sky.

Still distant. Still hidden.

But tonight… it didn't scare him as much.

He laid down.

Closed his eyes.

Tomorrow would come again.

And he was ready to meet it.