By Christina K Sangma
Mira arrived at her new hostel with a suitcase in one hand and a heavy heart in the other. The building looked busy and loud, filled with girls walking in groups, laughing, and calling out names she didn’t recognise. Some had parents with them, holding extra bags and giving last-minute instructions. Mira stood quietly near the entrance, trying to look confident, but her throat felt tight.
Her parents were far away, working in another country. They had hugged her for a long time before leaving, promising this new life would help her become independent. Mira had nodded, even smiled, because she didn’t want them to worry. But now that she was here, the truth sat inside her like a stone. She missed them so much it almost hurt.
The first few days were the hardest. Phones were kept away and only given to students on a weekend for an hour. Even the smallest things reminded her of home: the smell of rice in the dining hall, the sound of water in the bathroom, the silence after lights-out. At night, when her roommates fell asleep, Mira would turn to the wall and hug her pillow tightly, pretending it was her mother’s warm hug or her father’s protective hand on her head.
She tried to adjust, but everything felt unfamiliar. Her hostel room didn’t feel like her room. Her bed didn’t feel like her bed. Even her own voice sounded smaller in this new place.
One night, when the corridor was quiet and the wind moved gently outside, Mira heard something unusual, soft tapping near her window. She looked up slowly, her heart beating fast. The curtains moved slightly as if someone had brushed against them.
When Mira pulled the curtain aside, she saw a girl standing where nobody should have been able to stand. The girl looked simple and calm, wearing light-coloured clothes, her hair tied neatly, her eyes glowing. She smiled like she already knew Mira, like she had been waiting for her.
There was no fear in Mira’s chest, only a strange comfort. It felt like finding warmth in winter without knowing where it came from.
The girl entered the room as quietly as a shadow, leaving behind a soft scent of flowers and morning air. She didn’t act like a stranger. She moved as if she belonged there, as if she had always been part of the hostel’s silent corners. Mira didn’t understand how, but she felt safe.
After that night, the girl appeared often, but never loudly, never in a way that drew attention. Sometimes Mira would catch her in the hallway, near the terrace, or sitting on the hostel steps early in the morning when the sky was still pale. She always looked human, but there was something about her that didn’t feel ordinary. The air around her seemed lighter. The world around her seemed calmer.
Slowly, Mira noticed small changes in her life.
On days Mira felt too lonely, she would find a cup of warm tea waiting near her books. On evenings when she wanted to cry, she would notice a folded paper near her pillow, with simple words written neatly, reminding her that missing home was proof of love, not weakness.
On Sundays when they had their phones Mira would call her parents and speak with all emotions, happiness, sadness and was more open.. She began eating properly again. She started sleeping better. She even smiled at a few girls in her class, and with time, those smiles returned to her as kindness.
The hostel didn’t change, but Mira did.
Days became softer. Nights became easier. The room that once felt cold began to feel like her own space. Her loneliness didn’t disappear completely, but it stopped controlling her.
Then one evening, the mysterious girl stopped appearing.
Mira searched the terrace, the corridor, and the hostel steps, but there was no sign of her. All that remained was a small notebook left on Mira’s desk, open to its last page.
The handwriting was familiar, gentle, and neat.
You were never truly alone. You only needed someone to remind you of your strength.
Mira held the notebook close and looked out of her window. The wind touched her face softly, like a blessing. Somewhere deep inside, she felt a quiet peace settle in. Her parents were still far away, but her heart didn’t feel lost anymore.
Because now Mira knew something important. Even in a new hostel, even in a new life, she could survive. And she could grow.
