Part 4

College was supposed to be a fresh start.

At least, that's what everyone said.

A new environment. New people. New opportunities.

A chance to reinvent yourself.

For Aarohi, however, college felt surprisingly similar to everything that had come before it.

The only difference was that the questions had become more serious.

No longer:

"What do you want to become?"

Now it was:

"What are you doing to become it?"

She had chosen a practical course. Not because she loved it. Not because she hated it either.

It was simply the option that made the most sense.

The safe option.

The option that nobody would question.

Her parents were relieved.

Her relatives approved.

Her teachers nodded with satisfaction.

For the first time in years, nobody seemed worried about her future.

Strangely, that should have made her happy.

Instead, she felt as though she had left something important behind.

The first few months of college were busy.

Assignments.

Presentations.

Exams.

New classmates.

New routines.

Life moved quickly.

She told herself she was simply adjusting.

That she would return to singing once things settled down.

But things never settled down.

There was always another task waiting.

Another deadline.

Another responsibility.

The days became weeks.

The weeks became months.

And without realizing it, she spent less and less time doing the thing she loved most.

The notebook where she used to write lyrics remained untouched on a shelf.

Her earphones were now mostly used for recorded lectures rather than music.

Sometimes she noticed the change.

Most of the time she didn't.

Life had a way of making people forget things gradually.

One evening, while travelling home on a crowded bus, she saw a girl around her age watching singing videos on her phone.

The sound leaked through the earphones.

Aarohi glanced at the screen.

A young singer was performing on stage.

The audience cheered.

The singer smiled confidently.

The video lasted only a few seconds before the bus moved and Aarohi looked away.

But something about it stayed with her.

That night, she found herself searching for music videos instead of studying.

One performance became two.

Two became five.

Before she knew it, hours had passed.

The singers weren't necessarily more talented than her.

At least, that was what she thought.

Some had beautiful voices.

Some didn't.

Yet they all had one thing she lacked.

They had taken a chance.

Aarohi stared at the screen long after the videos ended.

Then she closed her laptop.

The next morning, she returned to her assignments as if nothing had happened.

That became a pattern.

Every few weeks, something reminded her of singing.

A performance.

A song.

A video online.

A college event.

And each time, the same feeling returned.

Not sadness.

Not exactly.

More like a quiet ache.

The feeling of standing outside a house that once belonged to you.

One afternoon, her college announced auditions for a music competition.

Students crowded around the notice board.

Excited voices filled the hallway.

Aarohi stopped walking.

For a moment, she simply stared at the poster.

The old excitement returned.

The same excitement she had felt years ago when she signed up for her school audition.

A voice inside her whispered:

"Try."

Another voice answered immediately.

"What's the point?"

She stood there for several minutes.

Then she walked away.

She didn't sign up.

She told herself she was being realistic.

That her studies mattered more.

That competitions wouldn't help her future.

That she was too busy.

The explanations sounded reasonable.

Yet later that night, she couldn't stop thinking about the audition.

Not because she believed she would have won.

Because she hadn't even given herself the chance to fail.

And somehow, that hurt more.

By the time she reached her final years of college, singing had become something she rarely talked about.

Not because she no longer loved it.

Because talking about it felt uncomfortable.

Dreams become harder to discuss when you've spent years ignoring them.

Whenever someone asked about her future, she had an answer ready.

A stable job.

A stable income.

A stable life.

The answer sounded responsible.

Mature.

Practical.

Everything people wanted to hear.

Yet every now and then, usually late at night when the world was quiet, she would find herself wondering about a different future.

A future where she had been a little braver.

A little less afraid.

A future where she had chosen the uncertain path instead of the safe one.

She never stayed with those thoughts for long.

The next morning always arrived.

Classes continued.

Assignments continued.

Life continued.

But somewhere deep inside her, the dream remained.

Smaller than before.

Quieter than before.

Yet not completely gone.

And that was the problem.

If it had disappeared entirely, moving on would have been easy.

Instead, it stayed.

Waiting silently in a corner of her heart.

Refusing to be forgotten. 🌙📖

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