When I turn the pages of my life, I see chapters filled with affection, care, experiences, learning, love, joy and countless moments that shaped me.

But in every chapter, there’s a silent hero.
How do I describe it? Not just a place, not just a space… but something much more.

It’s the one that holds my heart.
The one that has crafted not only me, but also you and all of us.

Whenever I think about it, I don’t know why, but unspoken emotions rise like silent calls. And I’m certain, as you read this, it will resonate deeply within you too.

It never mattered how it looked. Some had beautiful ambience, while some had nothing more than a roof above our heads. But no matter what, they became the forum where we grew. Each of us carries a never-ending story about it.

Able to guess what I’m speaking about?
It’s the place we all long for.
The space we miss even now.

If God ever asked me, “What’s your one wish?” I would instantly say:
“Take me back to those days.”

Days when innocence still walked with us.
Days that felt like home, even when we were away from our mothers.

Yes !! you’ve got it now. It’s the School.

Do you remember that first day? The day we cried and clung to our mothers, begging them not to leave us. That was perhaps the first time in our lives we tasted the pain of absence- the absence of our mom.

And it didn’t stop there. That place gave us many “firsts.”
The first friend.
The first fight.
The first enemy.
The first love… maybe even the first heartbreak.
(And no, I don’t mean you! )

I still remember mine. A classroom filled with children like me – some crying, some shouting, some refusing to stay. Some even angry with the teachers who gently asked our parents to step outside. That’s how it began.

School began with tears.
Tears of missing home and mom.

And it ended the same way too. But this time, the tears weren’t for mom -we cried for the school itself. For the friends who became family. For the walls that became home.

On the last day, the classroom was once again filled with tears. But now, even the teachers joined in, their eyes wet as they let go of us.
That was the end. The day we realized the place we had lived in for a decade, day after day, would never again be the same for us.

Even now, when I recollect those moments, my eyes still glisten with tears.

Because truly, it wasn’t just a place, it was the place.
The one that molded us.

A decade-long journey that taught us everything.
We entered as empty pages.
We left as complete books.

My teachers were the ones who held my tiny hands and taught me how to hold a pencil.
They erased my mistakes, corrected me, and helped me clear not only my notebooks but also my thoughts.
They sharpened my pencils and, along with them, sharpened my mind.
They fed me knowledge and food.
They carried my bag and, in many ways, carried me.
They guided me towards my path. And today, that path I walk on- the design, the art, the essence of who I am
It’s all shaped by one timeless hero: My School.