Time didn’t knock.
It barged in
ripping childhood from our fists
like a thief in daylight.
The girls we played tag with?
Now wear gold chains
and bridal sarees,
their mothers whispering,
“Find a good groom before it’s too late.”
The apus who once cursed physics exams
now cradle babies,
their laughter echoing
in kitchens we never entered.
And the vaiyas
those college gods we once feared,
we used to ask,
“How does it feel to be grown?”
Now we know.
And it’s not gentle.
It’s brutal.
It’s fast.
It’s nineteen years old
and already nostalgic.
We used to dream of this age
now we mourn it
before it’s even over.
We blinked.
And the playground turned into
wedding halls.
The group chats turned into
ghost towns.
The selfies turned into
memories we scroll past
but never open.
We are the last breath
of college life.
The final page
before the next chapter
writes itself
without asking.