I was sitting outside the college canteen, my bag resting beside me, the winter sun touching my face gently. Students were passing by, laughing, scrolling on their phones, talking about plans. And then I heard
"From the first of the month, winter vacations will begin.
For a moment, something inside me loosened. It felt like relief. But it wasn't happiness. Not the kind of happiness I remembered from childhood. Holidays were coming, yet my heart wasn't light. My mind wasn't dreaming of home, of fields, of my village. Instead, it was full of pressure-unfinished notes, pending assignments, and chapters I had only half understood.
After the vacation, the first-semester exams were about to begin, and I was not prepared at all, My goal was clear this time, I wanted a good CGPA. Not just for marks, but for myself to prove that I could do better, that I was growing. That's why I had already decided: I would not go to my village during the holidays.
Still, when I heard the word holidays, something old and tender stirred inside me.
After a while, it was time to go home. I walked out of the college gate with my friend Reena. Her face was glowing with excitement.
"Now the holidays are coming," she said happily. "I'll go to my home. My mother has already started
preparing my favourite winter snacks." I smiled, but it was a tired smile.
"And you?" she asked.
I looked at the road ahead and replied softly, "Not now... I'll go later."
We walked in silence for a few steps. The cold air brushed against my cheeks, And suddenly, without warning, my mind slipped away from the present. Back... far back... into a place where holidays meant
only joy.
The school was alive with noise and movement. Children sat on their wooden benches, some whispering, some pretending to read. Teachers were
explaining lessons with patience, chalk in hand, blackboard full of words. Everything felt normal-until the loudspeaker crackled.
"All students are informed that after two days, your winter holidays will begin,"
For a second, there was silence.
And then-
It exploded.
Laughter, clapping, cheers. Some children jumped from their seats. Some closed their books with dramatic happiness. The classroom turned into a
storm of excitement.
In that joyful chaos, little Isha sat quietly. She didn't shout. She didn't jump. She just smiled a slow, soft
smile that came from deep inside her heart. Her eyes shone, not because of noise, but because of memories waiting to happen,
Why wouldn't she be happy?
One can never forget the magic of childhood holidays. As the teacher tried to calm the class, Isha's mind was already flying-past the classroom, past the school
gate, past the dusty road straight to her village. She could almost smell the cold air of the mountains.
She could almost hear the sound of the trees.
She remembered how she used to tie a swing to the walnut and wild apricot (chuli) trees in her village with her brothers and sisters. They all worked together-
finding the strongest branch, throwing the rope over it, and tying it tightly. Sometimes, when there was no
rope, they used their mother's long old scarf. Then they would take tums pushing one another
higher and higher. Sometimes the swing moved very fast. Sometimes it twisted in the air, swinging in different directions. Yet no one was afraid. They
believed in each other Even when the swing soared high or swung
unpredictably, each of them felt sure-
They were not alone.
Someone was always there to steady, to stand close, to hold each other safe.
It wasn't just a swing-it was their love.
The joy of brothers and sisters lifting one another up, standing together, and sharing laughter and trust.
And then, that cold winter morning turned into something even more magical Snow had fallen overnight. The fields, the paths, and
even the trees were buried under soft, white blankets. The air smelled crisp and pure. We ran outside, our
hands freezing, our hearts overflowing with excitement. The swing, the branches, the trees-all seemed alive under the snow
We started shaping snowballs, throwing them into the sky, daring each other to see who could throw the
farthest
"Let's see who can throw the farthest!" someone shouted.
One... two... three!
Snowballs flew like tiny comets. Some fell near, some far, some spun sideways. When mine went farther than anyone else's, I jumped with joy and shouted,
"Mine went farther than yours-I win!"
Immediately, everyone challenged me again. "No! Try again! You won't beat me this time!"
Soon, we weren't just competing. We were chasing each other, laughing, screaming, and
throwing snow at each other, falling into the cold powder over and over again. Every snowball that hit or missed carried laughter, trust, and joy. Whenever
someone threw the farthest, we cheered, announced the winner, and immediately challenged each other
again.
The snow was everywhere-in our hair, down our jackets, covering our boots. Our cheeks burned from
cold, but our hearts were warm. The magic wasn't in the snow alone-it was in being
together, trusting one another, and knowing that even when the swing twisted or a snowball missed,
someone had your back. That was happiness Tringggg... Tringggg...
Suddenly, the school bell rang. The clear, sharp sound
cut through the snow-filled memory like a gust of wind. Isha's eyes flew open. The mountains, the snow, the
swing, and the laughter vanished instantly. She was
back at the college gate, the cold present brushing her cheeks, students walking past her, phones buzzing. distant car horns reminding her of reality.
The past had been sweet, alive, and real-but now, it was just a memory, leaving her heart heavy with nostalgia.
Once, holidays meant only happiness. Now, holidays meant responsibility.
I stood there for a moment, holding my bag tighter.
Back then, I waited for holidays so I could play. Now, I waited for holidays so I could work harder.
Back then, I counted days for fun.
Now, I counted days for goals.
Life had changed.
And maybe... I had changed too.
I took a deep breath and started walking home.
This time, my holidays would not be just about swings
and snowball games.
They would be about building myself.