Last Day of the College

By Samiullah

The morning of the last day of college carried a strange stillness in the air. For four years, life had revolved around the same routines—waking up early, rushing to lectures, sharing tea with friends in the cafeteria, and planning futures that seemed distant. But today was different. Today, the future had arrived, and the present was slipping into memory.

Arman adjusted his bag on his shoulder as he entered the college gates. He had walked through them hundreds of times, sometimes with excitement, sometimes with fear of exams, sometimes simply out of habit. But this morning, his steps were slower. He wanted to feel everything—the sound of students laughing in the distance, the smell of freshly cut grass from the courtyard, even the faint chalk dust that always seemed to hang in the air near the classrooms.

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Echoes of Yesterday

Every corner of the campus whispered stories. The old banyan tree at the entrance reminded him of the time he and his friends had skipped class just to sit under its shade, talking about life as if they had all the answers. The library, with its wooden shelves, reminded him of endless nights of preparation, where the seriousness of exams was often broken by whispered jokes.

He passed by the science block, and a memory of his first day came rushing back. He had been nervous, clutching his timetable, unsure of where to go. That day, he had made his first friend—Bilal—when they both got lost searching for the same classroom. “Looks like we’ll be lost together,” Bilal had said, and from that moment, a bond was formed.

Now, four years later, they were walking through the same corridors, not lost anymore, but uncertain of what the world outside would hold.

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Celebrations and Goodbyes

The classroom was buzzing when Arman entered. His classmates had decorated the blackboard with colorful chalk writing: “Farewell, Batch of Dreams.” Someone was playing music from their phone, and laughter filled the room. Everyone wore their best clothes—bright shalwar kameez, crisp shirts, and dresses—but behind their smiles, their eyes betrayed a quiet sadness.

“Arman, come sign this!” Bilal waved him over to a large sheet of paper pinned on the wall. It was a farewell board filled with signatures, doodles, and small notes. Arman took the marker and paused. What could he write that captured everything these years had meant? Finally, he wrote: “Not an ending, but a beginning. See you all at the top!”

One by one, friends exchanged gifts and small tokens. A notebook, a keychain, a photo—all symbols of friendships they hoped would last a lifetime.

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The Ceremony of Words

The farewell ceremony in the college hall was both grand and intimate. The principal spoke first, reminding the students that college was only one chapter in a book still being written. Then, teachers gave speeches—some serious, some filled with humor.

Professor Rahman, known for his strictness, surprised everyone with a softer tone. “I scolded you because I believed in you,” he said. “Remember, the world outside is far less forgiving than I am. But I have faith—you will rise.”

His words struck a chord. Many students, including Arman, felt their eyes sting with unshed tears.

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A Feast of Memories

After the speeches came the farewell lunch. The cafeteria, where they had once fought over samosas and chai, was now filled with laughter and endless selfies. Friends pulled each other into group photos, determined to capture every face, every smile.

“Do you remember when you spilled curry on the principal’s shoes?” someone teased, and the entire table burst out laughing. The stories flowed like a river—some embarrassing, some touching, all unforgettable.

Arman realized then that it wasn’t the grades or assignments that defined college—it was these people, these moments, stitched together like patches on a quilt of memories.

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The Last Sunset

As the sun began to set, the students gathered in the courtyard for one final group photograph. The sky was painted in shades of orange and purple, as if nature itself wanted to leave them with a memory worth keeping.

When the picture was finally taken, silence followed. They stood close together, unwilling to move, unwilling to let go.

Bilal placed a hand on Arman’s shoulder. “You think we’ll ever feel this way again?”

Arman looked around at the friends who had become family, at the walls that had witnessed their growth. “No,” he said softly. “But maybe we’re not supposed to. This was special because it happened only once.”

With heavy hearts but hopeful spirits, they walked toward the gates. Each step away from college felt like leaving a piece of themselves behind, yet at the same time, carrying something new forward.

Arman paused at the gate, turning back for one last look. The building stood tall, silent, timeless, as if it had seen generations come and go, holding their stories within its walls.

“This isn’t the end,” he whispered to himself. “It’s the beginning of everything we dreamed of.”

And with that, he stepped into tomorrow.