I was just sixteen when school ended—not with a bang, but with a quiet ache I didn’t yet know how to name. That day was our farewell party, arranged lovingly by our class teachers and the school principal. The hall was decorated with balloons and streamers, laughter echoed everywhere, cameras flashed, and promises of “let’s stay in touch” floated through the air. Everyone seemed happy, emotional, excited about the future. Everyone—except me. I sat quietly in one corner, smiling when required, clapping when others clapped, but inside, my heart was restless. In a few days, I would be leaving this