Chapter 1:
Hey readers, I'm KD—just a college-going girl, a little ambitious, a little confused, and always curious about life. I want to tell you my real story. It all started last year, when I was stuck at the crossroads of destiny, unsure which college to choose or which path to follow. And, well… destiny decided to throw me straight into hell.
I ended up choosing a local college. Not just any college, but an imaginary Institute of Management that doesn't even manage itself properly—let alone me. I chose BBA, hoping to become a successful businesswoman someday. Looking back now, I still wonder why I made that choice.
It was the first day of classes. Room 18. My heart was hammering like it wanted to escape my chest. I had decided I'd be the shy, respectful girl who would earn a few loyal friends. How naïve I was. Even God must have laughed at me that day.
By Day 4, my so-called "real life drama" began. I sat next to a girl—let's call her R. She seemed calm, friendly. Little did I know, she would be the reason for my first-ever panic attack. Somehow, she sent personal messages into the official class group. And unlucky me, sitting right beside her, became the target of the fallout.
The classroom was ordinary enough: a projector on the left, a whiteboard on the right, three rows of wooden desks and benches, curtains at the back, two air conditioners humming softly—but my nerves didn't care. Phones were not allowed, yet I had mine. And as the lecture began, the in-charge noticed.
The door slammed open. My heart froze. I didn't know what hit me.
"KD! Come here!"
I was trembling, my voice stuck in my throat. "I didn't do anything… I'm innocent…" I whispered, but she didn't listen. She marched down the stairs, and I followed, my legs like lead. Tears started streaming, and before I knew it, I was sobbing like a child.
She pointed to the left hallway, where there was a small waiting area outside the director's office. I sat, crying uncontrollably. Boys passing by whispered, "Why is she crying?" I felt my face burn hotter with embarrassment.
And then, R appeared. Shocked. "Hey… what happened?" she asked.
I tried explaining, but my words stammered out brokenly. "It's… not my fault… you know me… I… I didn't do anything…"
Then it hit me—my first panic attack. My vision blurred, my heart pounded violently, my hands trembled, my chest tightened. My body felt foreign to me, suffocating in tension I didn't understand. Teachers rushed over, their voices overlapping: "Are you okay? What happened? Who's her in-charge? Which stream?"
R explained. And slowly, the teachers began to understand. They laid me down on a chair in the faculty room, my feet on another chair, rubbing my hands, trying to calm me. Fifteen minutes later, I was shaking, exhausted, barely able to form coherent thoughts.
The in-charge approached, a smirk playing on her lips. "Do you even know what your friend did?"
"No," I whispered, still dazed.
"She sent her… personal messages into the official group," a teacher clarified.
The in-charge scoffed. "She's faking it."
But one teacher stood by me. "No, look at her hands… folded… see?"
Still, my reputation was already crumbling. By the next day, everyone at college had heard rumors. I was "bad luck." Friends I had hoped to make disappeared. Confidence? Gone. The only option left was the first bench—alone.
Sitting there, alone in the middle of the classroom, the weight of isolation hit me harder than I could have imagined. And that, dear readers, was only the beginning.
Because life, apparently, had a lot more waiting for me.