It was night and I was pretending to sleep.

Why?

I didn't know either, I didn't know what I was going to do, or how I was going to do it, but one thing I knew for sure was this; I would do it.

The house was silent, too quiet, too alert, as if the walls themselves were listening. I lay still on the thin mattress, my body stiff beneath the blanket, counting breaths that didn't calm me. Every creak of wood, every distant cough from another room made my heart skip a beat.

Slowly, I slipped my hand out and reached for my father's phone.

I had stolen it earlier while cleaning the storeroom. It was my punishment for today.

The phone had been tucked carelessly on a shelf, forgotten. I remembered how my fingers had trembled when I hid it beneath my kurti, fear and anticipation tangling in my chest even then.

The screen glowed faintly as I turned it on.

1:58 a.m.

Almost 2.

I turned it off and slid it into my bag. It was already packed and resting near the window. It wasn’t much, just a few clothes. Folded carefully between them were the only pieces of my mother I could find; a faded saree that still carried the faint scent of sandalwood, a small diary with worn edges and a silver anklet wrapped in cloth, impossible to leave behind.

I had also stashed some cash inside it, every note I could take from my aunt's cupboard without being noticed. It wasn’t enough. I knew that. But it was all I had.

My throat tightened as I hugged the bag for a moment, pressing my forehead to it. Then I closed my eyes.

“Mahadev”, I prayed silently, lips barely moving. “Just let me get out. I'll take care of the rest, please Bhagwan jii.” (God)

My hands were shaking when I opened the window. The night greeted me like an abyss.

It was darker than I expected; thick, endless, somewhere far away, a dog barked once, then fell silent. The sound of crickets sharp against my nerves.

My heart pounded so loudly I was afraid it would wake everyone up.

I lifted the bag and gently threw it out first, wincing as it hit the ground with a dull thud.

Swallowing hard, I climbed onto the window ledge and jumped.

The ground met my feet a little harshly, pain shooting up my ankles but I didn't make a sound.

I crouched instantly, grabbed my bag and hugged it to my chest like a shield and began to walk.

Each step was careful, slow; intended to avoid even the smallest noise. I kept glancing back, half-expecting lights to turn on, voices to rise, hands to grab me and drag me back inside.

When I reached the gate, I stopped.

The house stood behind me, filled with years I didn’t want to remember. I looked at it one last time, this place had taken more from me than it had ever given.

I turned away before my courage could change its mind.

At this hour, the streets were empty. No rickshaws. No vendors. No familiar sounds of Banaras waking up. Just long silent roads and my own footsteps echoing back at me like questions I didn't have answers to yet.

I walked. My legs trembled but I didn't stop. Stopping meant thinking. Thinking meant doubt.

It took me nearly 40 minutes to reach Banaras Railway Station.

A few people were scattered around; tea sellers setting up, porters half asleep, passengers curled up on benches. No one looked at me twice, this anonymity felt like safety.

I went straight to the ticket counter. “Next train to Jaipur?"

The man barely glanced up. “4 a.m.”

I nodded and slid the money across the counter. The ticket felt thin between my fingers but it carried weight, proof that this wasn't just a thought anymore. It was happening.

It was nearly 3 by the time I sat down on a bench, pulling my dupatta over my head, hiding half of my face. I stayed alert, eyes moving constantly, watching people. Every stranger felt like a possibility of help, of danger. I trusted neither.

When the train finally arrived, the sound of its wheels cutting through the silence made my chest tighten. I boarded quickly, found my seat and sank into it like my body had been waiting for permission to collapse. Only then I breathed.

I pulled out my mother’s diary. Reading it'd always grounded me. It reminded me that once someone had wanted me. Loved me. Dreamed for me.

I was lost in her words when I felt someone watching me.

The woman seated across from me had been eyeing me for a while. She wore a floral shawl and so many bangles that they jingled every time she moved. Eventually her curiosity won.

“Going to Jaipur, beta?” (Dear) she asked loud and cheerful.

I nodded, not lifting my head. “Yes.”

“Student?”

“Hmm.”

“What are you studying?”

I hesitated, not because I didn't know what to say but because I didn't know what tomorrow held. Still, Jaipur had only ever meant one thing to me.

“Fashion design,” I replied.

She gasped as if I'd announced I was leaving the planet. “Fashion! Arey wahh! (Ohh wow!) But you don't look like those city girls. Where are you from?”

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag. “Banaras.”

“Banaras!” She exclaimed. “Such a conservative place. And your parents allowed you to go all the way to Jaipur alone?”

I forced a polite smile. “They're… Supportive.” It was a lie, a fragile one but it kept me safe.

She hummed, clearly ready to dig deeper. Before she could, I turned towards the window, pressing my forehead lightly against the glass.

The woman still hadn't stopped talking; opinions spilling out endlessly, bangles clinking like warning bells. People like her didn't want answers. They just want confirmation that their world made sense.

She didn't know anything. Not about how I'd climbed out of a window at 2 in the morning. Not about the fading bruise on my forearm; left behind by my aunt's bangles.

“Designing clothes is not for girls like you,” my uncle's voice echoed in my head, the memory of it still sharp. I could see my sketchbook lying in the dust where he'd thrown it.

Girls like me. Orphans. Raised like servants. Fed like burdens. In that house dreams weren’t forbidden outright. They were laughed at, then punished until you learned to stop wanting them.

The train kept moving. Jaipur was still hours away, I wondered briefly, if they were searching for me, if anyone was worried. A bitter thought followed immediately. They’re probably relieved.

“Mahadev,” I whispered, my eyes burning. “Why did this happen to me?”

Banaras held my childhood. It held memories of my parents, fragments of my mother in every corner. And yet I had to leave it behind like it was never mine.

What if I didn't get the scholarship?

What if the money ran out?

What if faith wasn’t enough?

I wiped my tears and took a steady breath. Enough Ruhi, overthinking won't save you, everything will be alright.

The train finally slowed down at Jaipur Station. I stepped onto the platform, heart racing, the air unfamiliar and dry.

‘This is it,’ I told myself. ‘A new beginning.’ Excitement fluttered beneath my exhaustion. Now the next step was shelter.

I scanned the area, doubt creeping in. Could I trust anyone? What if someone realized I was alone and tried to harm me?

A ridiculous thought crossed my mind ‘commit a minor crime and stay in police custody overnight. I'll get police protection for free.’

I almost laughed. Then scolded myself, no stupid ideas Ruhi now be serious.

After roaming around a little, I found a small lounge nearby, dimly lit but clean. Inside, a woman in her early thirties stood at the desk. She looked calm, kind and safe.

“Good evening, ma’am. Do you have a reservation?”

“No,”I said. “I was hoping to book a room for a couple of days. Is there anything available?”

She nodded. “May I see a valid ID of yours?”

My fingers trembled slightly as I handed it over. She glanced at it, typed something then smiled.

“You're all set. Room 32. Down the hall, second left.”

“Thank you.”

She was already greeting the next guest when I walked away.

Once inside the room, I finally let my bag slip from my shoulders.

A long bath washed away the grime and fear. After eating, I crawled into bed, exhaustion pulling me under.

As sleep claimed me, one thought echoed softly in my mind, ‘This is only the beginning.’

Morning arrived without mercy. Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains and landed straight on my face, warm and insistent, pulling me out of my sleep. For a second I lay there disoriented, my body heavy and mind blank, then instinct kicked in.

I stretched my hand toward the side table.

My phone. “Urghh…” I mumbled, fingers patting around blindly, and found it! I squinted at the screen. 7:45 a.m.

“What!” I shot up in bed.

I jumped off the bed and rushed into the attached bathroom, my reflection looking back at me pale and wide-eyed, my thoughts already racing ahead of my body.

I showered quickly; no lingering thoughts. By the time I stepped out, towel wrapped around me, my heartbeat had steadied.

Today I had two tasks. College and shelter.

I dressed in simple clothes, tied my hair into a neat braid, slipped my phone and some cash into my jeans pocket and left my room.

At the reception, the same woman from last night glanced up and smiled politely.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I replied, then hesitated a little. “Is there…any place nearby where I can eat?”

Honesty, I was starving and the lounge food; well let's just say it had made me deeply appreciate homemade dal.

She chuckled softly. “There's a small café two lanes down.”

“Thank you.”

I chose to walk. Auto fares, cab fares; every rupee mattered.

The morning air of Jaipur felt different from Banaras. It was drier, quieter. The city was waking up slowly, shops opening, tea stalls filling the air with the smell of boiling milk and ginger.

At the cafe, I ordered the simplest breakfast available which was Aloo paratha and tea.

As I ate my eyes wandered to the people around me. Students with backpacks, laughing. Couples arguing softly over tea. Everyone seemed to know where they were going.

I swallowed the last bite and wiped my hands. ‘Soon,’ I told myself. ‘You'll belong somewhere too.’

I left the cafe and headed towards my destination.

NIMS University.

The name sat heavy in my chest as I stood outside the gates. This was it. The campus was larger than I'd imagined; clean pathways, trimmed lawns, buildings standing tall and confident. Students walked past me, some hurried and some were relaxed, all moving with a certainty I envied.

I walked in, inside the administration building, the air was cool and formal. I waited for my turn, heart thudding until finally I stood in front of the desk.

“Yes?” The woman behind the desk asked, barely looking up.

“I wanted to ask about admissions for fashion design.”

She glanced at me then, eyes scanning quickly. “Have you applied?”

“No,” I admitted. “I wanted to ask about the admission process first and the scholarship.

She turned to her computer, fingers moving briskly across the keyboard. “For the fashion design program, you'll need to fill out the application online. If you’re applying for the scholarship, you'll have to register separately for the entrance exam.”

I nodded, absorbing every word.

“The scholarship exam is conducted online,” she continued. “Candidates from across the country appear for it. You'll receive the exam date via email once you register.”

“What's the eligibility?”

“Minimum 85%,” she replied without looking up. “Results are usually declared about a week after the exam.

A week. Seven days suspended between hope and reality. “And till then?” I asked quietly.

“You can attend orientation sessions if you want, but admission will only be confirmed once the results are out.”

“I understand.” I thanked her and stepped aside, my chest tight but steady.

‘What will you do till next week?’ The question followed me as I walked out of the building. PG hunt? Hostel inquiry? But what if I didn't get the scholarship? I stopped walking, frustration bubbling up.

“Urghh… Ruhi,” I muttered under my breath. “Why are you like this?” Indecisive, overthinking, spiralling.

I closed my eyes for a second, inhaled deeply. “Okay,” I whispered. “Mandir jati hu. Baki sab Mahadev sambhal lenge.” (Let's go to the temple, leaving the rest to Lord Shiva).

I opened my phone and searched for nearby temples. One popped up not too far away. Walking distance. Perfect.

The path to the temple wound through quieter lanes. Houses stood close together, balconies draped with drying clothes, stray dogs sleeping in patches of shade. The further I walked, the calmer I felt.

The temple appeared almost suddenly; old, tucked away like a secret the city had chosen to protect.

Stone steps. A bell hanging at the entrance. I removed my slippers and stepped inside. It wasn’t crowded.

The idol of Mahadev stood at the center, serene and unmoving.

I folded my hands and closed my eyes. And then— I talked.

Not in chants or rehearsed prayers. Just words.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” I admitted silently. “I don't know if I'm strong enough. I don't know if Jaipur will be kind to me.”

My throat tightened. “I've left everything behind,” I continued. “I don't have a backup plan, Bhagwan jii. Just faith and a little stubbornness.”

Images flashed through my mind. “Please,” I whispered. “Bas itna sath de Dena… ki main khud ko sambhal Saku.” (Just stay with me longer enough… until I can hold myself together).

I talked like that for some time. When I finally opened my eyes…

The silence fell heavier. Expectant. As though something unseen had stepped quietly into my life.