My Room

I still remember the first day we met. 

 

Not in the way two people meet, but in the quiet, almost mystical way one meets someone very special, who will become a part of their soul.

 

A shy, unsure, undecided, and confused young soul — carved out of hesitation and wrapped in uncertainty. Brought into that small, cosy room at the far end of the city, I carried with me nothing but a suitcase, a restless heart, and the feeling of being a stranger everywhere I turned. 

 

It was a new city. A new language fluttered through the streets like birds I could not yet name. A new culture pulsed in the air, warm but alien. There were no familiar faces, no friends, no guiding hands. Just me—still adjusting my steps—and the quiet companionship of those four walls. 

 

And somehow… without words, the room spoke. 

 

It told me, “Not to worry, my friend… here we are. This is your place. Our place. Alone, yet together. Here, you can be you again.”

 

 

I remember those initial days.

 

A struggled every second to fit in! learning, failing, falling, learning again—and each evening, I would return to ‘him’… that little sanctuary of mine. The tiny bed became my confidant. I would lie there and whisper the day’s story into the silence, as though the walls absorbed my laughter and my tears, caressing my tired souls!

 

I didn’t know whether I liked him or hated him in the beginning.

 

But ‘he’ liked me fully, without condition. The walls used to tease me…hug me… encouraged me…..Steffi Graf’s graceful smile frozen on a life-size poster, Sachin Tendulkar’s poised bat that spoke of victories, Sylvester Stallone staring back with silent courage. Lyrics—written in pencil all over… faded but stubborn—marched across the walls; verses from Lennon, Cliff Richard, Nachiketa and names I once wanted to be like. 

 

The little window, my only eye to the world outside, opened to a green field, the tubewell—soft, eternal—whispering to me each morning: We do love you, buddy. You carry on. Get ready for another day.

 

My room knew me. Knew me more than anyone could!

 

It knew my secrets, my pains, my fragile dreams, my bursts of happiness, and the nights I cried alone. It knew my college romance—the hesitations, the first gentle words, those special moments, those bonds and breakups.

 

It saw how a stranger, afraid of a strange city, slowly grew up. 

 

It witnessed my new friends enter my life, one by one, each bringing a piece of home into my heart. The room taught me—patiently, silently—how to fall in love not just with the city, but with its people, its language, its winding lanes, and the rhythm of its culture.  The room saw a lonely soul becoming a darling of the people around.

 

He bore witness to my stressful exam nights—the rustle of notes, the shrill alarms, the afternoons so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

 

He stayed with me through the fevers, when I lay alone, too weak to move, with no one to turn to but the comfort of familiar walls. He made me stronger. In teaching me endurance, he taught me to become myself. 

 

He was there in moments of pure joy and moments of quiet despair. He saw me triumph. He saw me break. He saw me rebuild. And in all of it, he remained my constant. 

 

 

I dream of that last day often—too often to count. 

 

The hurried final packing. The cassette tapes and Walkman tucked away. The worn-out books, the wrinkled magazines, the posters peeled from the walls. I thought I was taking everything with me.

 

But in truth, I was leaving far more than I carried away. 

 

The cartoons sketched on the walls. The fading pencil-written lyrics. The torn papers that marked nights of inspiration or frustration. All of them stayed behind. And they knew it, too. The room missed me… just as I miss him. 

 

I miss him every day. Somewhere, somehow, a part of me still lives there—in that small hostel room at the far end of the city. 

 

In its quiet, protective embrace, I learned how to be alone. I learned how to rise after falling. I learned how to belong. 

 

And maybe… just maybe… he still waits for me, unchanged but ever welcoming.