I was back in that suffocating living room again. My father's voice echoed in my ears, sharp and disappointed. My mother's face was a mix of worry and frustration. Relatives nodded in fake sympathy, throwing in their unwanted opinions.
"He barely passed."
"What will he even do in Pharmacy?"
"Such a waste of money."
The words swirled around me, tightening like a noose. My throat dried up, my hands clenched into fists. I wanted to scream, to tell them I was trying, but my voice refused to come out.
Then—BEEP! BEEP!
My alarm jerked me out of the nightmare. Heart pounding, I blinked at the ceiling, my breath uneven. The echoes of their voices faded, but the weight in my chest remained. I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. Just a dream. Or maybe a reminder.
I glanced at the time—7:30 AM. Damn it.
Dragging myself out of bed, I sat at the edge for a moment, rubbing my face. The morning sunlight peeked through the window, but it didn't make me feel any better. Another day. Another set of useless lectures.
I grabbed my phone, scrolling absentmindedly through notifications. A few messages in college group chats, some random forwards from relatives, and a missed call from home. I ignored it. I already knew what they wanted—"study harder," "focus on your future," "don't waste our money."
Sighing, I pulled on my college uniform—blue shirt, black pants. It felt like a prison outfit. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, picked up my bike keys, and stepped out.
The road to college was familiar—dusty, filled with potholes, and crowded with honking bikes and rickshaws. I weaved through traffic, the engine's hum drowning out my thoughts. But deep down, I knew what was waiting for me—a dull lecture, a toxic professor, and another day of pretending I was okay.
When I arrived at college, the first thing I saw was that fucking watchman standing at the gate like he owned the place. As if my day wasn't already miserable.
"ID card," he muttered, blocking my way.
I clenched my jaw. I was already late for my lecture, and this guy wanted to waste my time over a stupid piece of plastic. Sighing, I yanked my bag open, dug through the mess of books and loose papers, and finally pulled out my ID. He barely glanced at it before stepping aside.
I shoved the card back into my pocket and walked in.
Damn, this dull building. Tall, grey, and lifeless—just like my future here. Pharmacy college, they said. A temple of education. To me, it felt more like a prison.
I made my way to the classroom, my steps heavy, my mood already ruined. The hallway smelled of cheap deodorant, unwashed socks, and disappointment. Students rushed past me, some cramming notes at the last minute, others gossiping about things that didn't matter. I didn't belong to either group.
I entered the classroom and scanned for an empty spot. The first few benches were occupied by the same overenthusiastic toppers, their notebooks open, pens ready as if they were about to crack the toughest exam of their lives. I rolled my eyes and walked straight to the last bench.
There was a time when I thought only kids with no future sat here. Back in school, last benchers were the ones who doodled in their books, slept through classes, or just waited for the bell to ring. But college changed my perspective. Here, the smartest people sat at the back—not because they didn't care, but because they knew better. They had figured out that grades didn't define intelligence.
I dropped my bag on the desk and slumped into my seat. Another pointless lecture was about to begin
I slouched back in my seat, staring blankly at the half-scribbled notes from yesterday's lecture. That's when I overheard a few punks at the front whispering.
"Bro, did you hear? Rekha Ma'am is gone."
"What? Seriously?"
"Yeah, some new young teacher is taking her place. Samiksha or something."
I didn't care. I wasn't interested in this shit at all. A new teacher wouldn't change anything. This place would still be a prison.
Rekha Ma'am, though… That woman was the worst bitch I had ever met. I still remember the day she humiliated me in front of the whole batch—burning my lab record just because my handwriting wasn't 'neat enough' for her godly standards. The smell of burnt paper, the smug look on her face, the snickers from the front-benchers—it was all burned into my memory like a scar.
I had clenched my fists so tight that day, nails digging into my palms. If I had a dagger back then, I swear, I would have stabbed her right in the middle of the classroom. But I couldn't. I didn't even have the right to argue. Because in this college, Rekha wasn't just a teacher—she was the mistress of the HOD and a favorite of the higher-ups. If I had spoken a word, they would've thrown me out like trash.
So, I endured. Like I always did.
But now… she was gone. Finally. A small wave of satisfaction washed over me. That bitch would never torture me again.
I sighed, resting my head on my arms. Whatever. A new teacher or an old one—it didn't matter. They were all the same, right?
And then, I saw her.
Samiksha Ma'am.
The moment she walked in, I froze. My breath hitched.
Fair skin, a soft glow on her face. Beautiful, expressive eyes framed by those cute little spectacles. A neatly draped saree hugging her curves perfectly. And then that voice—soft, sweet, yet firm enough to command attention.
I had never seen such beauty in my entire life.
For a second, I forgot where I was. Forgot everything—my frustration, my hatred for this place, my grudge against teachers. Everything just faded into the background.
I just stared. Stunned.
My heart was pounding, like it was about to break out of my chest. In my 19 years of existence, I had never seen such beauty. It was love at first sight.
She placed her books on the desk, adjusted her spectacles slightly, and smiled at the class.
"Good morning, everyone. My name is Samiksha Aher. I'll be your new PIC—Pharmaceutical Inorganic Chemistry—professor."
Her voice was soft yet confident, like she knew exactly how to command attention without raising it.
Then she asked everyone to introduce themselves and share their future goals.
One by one, students started their typical "I want to be a Drug Inspector," "I want to do M.Pharm," and "I want to crack GPAT" speeches. I rolled my eyes. None of them knew the competition in those exams. They were just repeating what they had heard from seniors or parents.
Then, my turn came.
I stood up lazily. What was I supposed to say? I didn't have any big ambitions.
"Uh… See, I was afraid of maths in my 12th, so I dropped that subject. The only option left was B.Pharm. I have no goals."
Silence.
The whole class stared at me. Shocked. Maybe they were expecting some fake motivational answer like everyone else. But that wasn't me.
I glanced at Samiksha Ma'am. Even she looked a little surprised.
Then, she smiled.
"Take your bag and sit on the first bench. I like your honesty."
Wait… what?
I blinked. Did she just… praise me?
That was the first time in my life a professor had ever said something positive about me.
Before I could process it, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Are you deaf or what? Take your bag and come sit here."
Damn it. I hated the first bench.
On the last bench, I was planning to take a nice nap. But thanks to my laziness—and my inability to lie properly about my goals—I was now stuck in a nightmare.
I grabbed my bag and dragged myself to the front.
The lecture started.
There was a time in school when I had a separate notebook for every subject. Now, I had one single notebook for everything. I flipped to a fresh page, half-listening.
But then something happened.
Samiksha Ma'am wasn't like the others. She didn't just read slides in a dull voice. She explained. She made things make sense.
For the first time in ages, I was actually understanding something in class. It felt like I got my powers back—the ones I had lost after 10th grade.
Of course, there were moments when I got distracted. Her voice. Her expressions. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. I was barely holding on.
Then she asked me a question.
I blinked. Shit. I wasn't even paying attention.
But my brain worked fast. I pieced together whatever I had heard and answered.
She smiled again. "Good. See, you understand when you listen."
Another praise.
I wasn't good at studying. But I was good at memorization. With just ChatGPT and PYQs, I had managed to score 25/30 in my sessional exams.
Yeah, I was pretty smart.
Or at least, I was about to be.
The lecture ended.
That was the shortest one hour of my life.
Before the next professor could step in, I grabbed my bag and ran back to the last bench. I wasn't about to survive another lecture in the front row.
The next teacher entered, and the boredom resumed. I sat there, half-listening, half-regretting my life choices. Why the hell did I choose this?
Lectures dragged on, one after another, until it was finally lunchtime.
---
I headed to the cafeteria, where I met my only friend in this hellhole—Aniket.
He was the only guy in college who had the same messed-up sense of humor as me. Unlike me, he lived in a hostel. I, on the other hand, had my own place.
My grandfather had an apartment in this small town. He lived here until he passed away. After that, the apartment was locked up for years. When I got admission to this college, I begged my dad to let me live there alone. He agreed. Probably because it saved him hostel fees.
So here I was. Alone.
Aniket and I sat down with our plates. We talked about everything and nothing. Mostly about how pathetic our college was and how toxic our classmates were.
In pharmacy colleges, girls outnumber boys. And my class? Filled with double-standard, gossip-obsessed hypocrites. The few boys we had? Total slaves to those girls. No self-respect, no spine.
Aniket and I? We were different. At least, that's what we told ourselves.
After lunch, I grabbed my bag and headed to the lab for practicals.
---
I hated practicals.
The dead, humorless girls, the stinking lab chemicals, the never-ending work—fuck my life.
If you think it's heaven to be surrounded by girls in class, let me tell you—it's HELL.
I was stuck on a platform surrounded by gossiping girls. Listening to their nonsense made me want to bash my head against a wall.
Somehow, I survived. Barely.
---
After practicals, I went straight home. Watched reels for hours.
Then my gym buddy called.
I changed, dragged myself to the gym, did my workout, and came back.
Then, the same old routine—cussing my life, cussing myself, lighting a cigarette, and then passing out.
And just like that, the cycle began again.
---