The Version Of Me That Spoke

I started living in boarding in 11th where the door appeared on night when the boarding felt too sad and quiet which made me dejected and wail each time . The ceiling fan rotating slowly above me, pushing all warm air across me and making me suffocated and breathless . On other side , my roommate slept on other bed, her breathing steady and effortless which made me feel , how is my roomate so free ? Outside, the laughter drifted through the corridor making me feel lonely before dissolving into familiar click of those closing doors of my life . I lay awake with phone in hand, staring at a message I had typed and erased three times as not feeling to share .I often kept my feeling inside me so that no one will judge me and usually laughed too much to hide from myself . Whenever anyone in school asked how was I adjusting in this environment , I always answered the same way. "I'm fine , don't worry ." The words were simple made everyone feel I somehow adapted to this scary world , safely . They asked for nothing in return that made me question why ? Is this real ? But that one night, the silence felt heavier on my heart than usual times , it felt like a heavy stone on my heart . It pressed me against the walls of the room, reminding me that being independent is not the same as feeling at home cozily . That was when I noticed the door of my way to freedom like in poem " The Road Not Taken." It stood beside my cupboard , common and underwhelming trying to find a person who can understand me , as if it had always been there like forever . I hesitated only briefly before turning the handle to my side . On the other side was the congruent corridor, but something felt profoundly different. The lights seemed warmer giving my body secure . The air carried laughter that didn't sound that distant. I always watched a version of myself sitting cross-legged confidently on the common-room floor, listening and speaking without rehearsing a single sentence first and start being poised for , Whom am I ?. Her voice was not louder than mine just freer and unflappable like she is proud of who she is !!! I followed her through small moments making me admire her but , I had insecurities . She called home and admitted that she missed it instead of disguising the feeling as exhaustion …. She knocked on a friend's door instead of pacing past it and trying to face the circumstances , waiting to be invited. At dinner, she sat down at a crowded table without questioning whether she belonged there or not , silent and staring . Nothing about her life was perfect even though . She still struggled with assignments on top of her head . She still felt uncertain in new friendships like kicked out or unwanted . She still lay awake some nights , thinking of home and her cozy people . But the loneliness did not settle quietly inside her and it triggered . It moved through conversations, softened by being shared. The difference was subtle and estatic . She was not braver or happier but only less silent. I realized that I had mistaken silence for strength as such . I believed adapting meant handling discomfort alone and struggling in life , as if asking for reassurance from others would make me stronger or weaker . Yet here was a life shaped not by bold decisions and a small decision change the whole life , but by small acts of honesty which is our policy . The door began to fade again I stepped back into my room before it disappeared completely . The fan still hummed. The corridor still echoed faintly and hurting my ear each time . Nothing around me had changed but yet the silence no longer felt like proof that I had to manage every emotion myself . I picked up my phone again and again . The familiar words appeared automatically in my mind like popping letters . "I'm fine." I erased them completely and gathered some courage . Instead, I typed something smaller, but quite truer. "I think I'm still adjusting." The room did not suddenly feel like home but ,The loneliness did not vanish completely . But as I set the phone down, it felt lighter — less like something I had to carry alone on my heart . The door was gone which changed my life completely as whole and I learnt . Still, the version of me who had opened it remained, reminding me that belonging often begins the moment we choose to speak.