She enters the gate, chattering quickly filling her ears. She sees people. People talking, whining, obnoxiously loud. Some filled with hauteur, with heads up high. Some weirdly mirthfull with laughter so frivolous. She brings her feet to move and find the designated place she’s supposed to be at. Checking and rechecking her timetable, she makes sure whether or not is she in front of the correct room. Then enters and scans the room to find a seat in the middle of the classroom. Of course she does. Who doesn’t want to play safe? She places herself on one of the benches. Her stomach churns when someone sits beside her, almost
feeling eerie.

               Slowly the room stats to fill in. Her head swaps furiously from left to right taking in everything from the new surrounding. She examines people. Everybody in attires that are new and shiny. Everybody wants to stand out. Then peeps at her own. Her fingers pick on a loose thread of the top that she’d worn countless times before. So much that it feels like her second skin. It’s printed and has too many colours. Not too dark to be judged. Not too bright to not be able to merge. Also, a scarf wrapped around her neck that smells of her sheets for she’d fallen asleep fully dressed before leaving home. Home. Everything that she has on is what makes her feel home. She didn’t pick out a new outfit even though she had many. Didn’t want another ‘new’ to be added to the many others – new place, new people, new surrounding and more.
           
                    She takes in all the gimshaw around her. She can’t help but feel anxious about eyes looking at her on her first day in degree college.

****

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