“From Unknown To Unforgettable”
Today’s journey at college unfolded with an air of fresh beginnings and subtle pride — the kind that only arises when experience meets reflection.
The morning began with a gentle stroll into the campus grounds, where I noticed my friends gathered in the serene garden area, their eyes curiously observing the new batch of students stepping into the world we once nervously entered. Today marked the commencement of the academic journey for these newcomers — wide-eyed, hopeful, and brimming with anticipation. Though I wasn't fully aware of the arrival schedule beforehand, the environment itself hinted at the significance of the day.
As the clock moved forward, the regular lecture sessions were expected to begin. However, the rhythm of the college was different today. Most professors were engaged in welcoming duties, attending an orientation seminar held especially for the new students in the auditorium. Even the professor scheduled to take our first class was occupied in the same seminar. In their place, another professor stepped in and invited us to move toward the computer laboratory.
Upon entering the lab, we found students from the 5th semester immersed in their project work. The atmosphere was filled with concentration and quiet ambition. My friend, Divy Vaishnav, and I found a moment to converse, sharing casual thoughts amidst the productive buzz of the lab. Shortly after, a familiar face — one of the peons — entered the lab carrying a special treat. To mark the welcoming of the new academic batch, “Pudhina Soda” was distributed among everyone present. It was a small yet thoughtful gesture, and we gratefully enjoyed the refreshment, soaking in the moment that subtly celebrated both old and new beginnings.
As I settled into the lab, flanked by a few of my seniors from the 5th semester, a spontaneous yet purposeful conversation began to bloom. Alongside my friend Divy, I seized the moment to share a glimpse of my creative pursuits — particularly, my venture and the technical skills I've been honing over time. It wasn't long before one of the seniors, intrigued by our discussion, requested to see a demonstration of my website development work.
With calm confidence, I opened my Sagarithm - Personal Portfolio HTML5 Template on his laptop. The moment the page loaded, his expression shifted — a mix of awe and disbelief settled on his face. The sleek interface, responsive design, and professional polish of the website spoke for itself. He was visibly impressed, struggling to grasp how someone so young could create something so refined and production-ready.
Meanwhile, the class around us had grown a bit noisy. In response, the professor — maintaining a sense of discipline — asked Divy to stand and bring the room to order. He complied respectfully, taking charge of the situation with composure. A few moments later, the same professor requested Divy’s assistance again, this time with organizing and reviewing the test copies from a recent Operating Systems examination.
The atmosphere settled slightly, and once again, I found myself engaged with another curious group of 5th semester students. One of them asked about my skills and background, prompting me to demonstrate my portfolio website once more — this time on a different laptop. As they examined the project, they began to question the underlying technologies and development stack I had used. I gladly shared insights about the tech stacks, frameworks, and methods I employed.
At one point, a student interjected in Gujarati, sparking a playful response from another who nudged him to switch to Hindi. I smiled and reassured them — “It’s alright, I understand.” But what followed was a scene that deeply etched itself in my memory. Their excitement faded into stunned silence. One of them, overwhelmed by what he saw, sank into an unexpected stillness — as if shaken by a sense of self-reflection or even mild insecurity. His friend gently said, “Don’t go into depression,” in an attempt to lighten the moment.
The questions that followed were even more telling “How old are you?” one of them asked. When I replied, “Just 16,” a wave of astonishment swept across the group. Their eyes widened, jaws dropped slightly, and for a moment, silence took over. But it didn’t stop there. They leaned in further, curiosity brimming. “How many courses or seminars have you done?” someone asked. “Where did you learn all of this?” another added.
I looked at them, smiled, and answered simply but confidently,
““The Youngest Self-taught Multi-skilled Person””
Their disbelief deepened. One of them immediately picked up his phone and searched my name online and the result left them stunned. They weren’t expecting to find someone their younger already building a recognized identity.
That moment was more than proud it was defining. Their reactions weren’t just casual compliments; they were genuine realizations that they had just met someone who had turned curiosity into mastery — without formal training, without shortcuts, just self-discipline and relentless learning.
As they stared in awe, I whispered silently to myself,
“I am the best.”
Because in that room, I wasn’t just another student. I was proof that skills, consistency, and self-belief can put you years ahead — even when you're just 16.
Following the stimulating session in the computer lab, our academic schedule resumed with the second lecture of the day — a class led by none other than our respected Head of Department. The anticipation was high, particularly for me. The previous evening had been dedicated entirely to completing an extensive assignment he had given us. With unwavering focus, I had poured my thoughts and efforts into crafting an 18-page, working late into the night to meet the expected standard.
Yet, to my quiet disappointment, the professor did not arrive to collect the assignment as expected. Despite the hours of meticulous effort, there was no moment of submission or acknowledgment that day. Still, I held onto the work with pride, knowing that dedication never goes in vain — even if recognition doesn’t arrive immediately.
After the first break, the same professor from our earlier lab session returned to our classroom. By then, the class had slipped into its usual post-break chatter. As the volume grew, he once again turned to Divy, asking him to restore order. Like before, Divy rose to the task, standing at the front and instructing our classmates to maintain silence.
He played his role with a blend of seriousness and authority, and remarkably, the class quieted under his command. Yet, amid the attempt to establish discipline, a small exception was made for me. As close friends, Divy and I continued exchanging whispers and subtle laughs. We found ourselves in a playful space, lightening the otherwise tense atmosphere by teasingly pretending to monitor others. If someone spoke, Divy would act as though he was noting their name down a harmless bit of fun but curiously, our own conversations were left off the imaginary list.
It was a simple yet cherished moment a reminder that in the midst of academic rigor and responsibilities, friendship can add laughter to the silence, turning an ordinary classroom into a memorable corner of joy.
After the second break, we returned once again to the lab — joined by our seniors from the 5th semester. The professor began a spontaneous and inspiring session, asking students from the senior batch to come forward and share their internship experiences.
As the professor invited the next group to the front, we listened attentively to the experiences of a team of 5th-semester students who had pursued internships in the realm of Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning. They spoke about the tools they had used, the challenges they faced, and the small victories that came along the way. I sat quietly, offering an occasional smile, not out of arrogance but with a sense of quiet confidence — I understood everything they were sharing. It wasn’t new to me. Their insights were valuable, no doubt, but for me, it felt like familiar territory. Their exploration was my everyday foundation.
Soon after, another group stepped forward — this time to share their internship journey focused on React.js, a popular front-end JavaScript library. Their presentation was technical and engaging. However, once again, I found myself internally nodding, fully understanding the depth and direction of their words. These weren’t foreign concepts to me they were part of my daily workflow, the very skills I applied to projects I build and sell. I couldn’t help but think to myself,
“Their maximum is my minimum.”
Then came a moment that turned the spotlight toward me.
The professor, having noticed the ongoing attention and interest surrounding my skills, invited me and another student from the 5th semester — both of us freelancers — to come forward and share our personal journeys. I stood up, feeling both humbled and excited, walking toward the front of the room beside a senior who, like me, had carved a path outside traditional academics.
For a few seconds, we exchanged glances, silently negotiating who would speak first. After a brief pause, he began by introducing the concept of freelancing — its meaning, how it works, and what led him to pursue it. I followed with my perspective, sharing a few thoughts on how freelancing had allowed me to transform my skills into something purposeful and rewarding. I kept it short, letting authenticity speak louder than explanation.
Then the professor asked a question that caught everyone off-guard,
“How much do you earn from freelancing every month?”
I turned toward my fellow speaker and gestured for him to answer first. He responded honestly, “I usually earn around 3,000 to 4,000 rupees per month.”
Then, it was my turn. The room went silent in anticipation.
I took a breath and said,
“Well, it’s not fixed like a salaried job. It’s unpredictable… but depending on the project, the income can range anywhere from a few thousand rupees to even lakhs. In fact, my highest-paying client was $10,000 USD for a single project.”
A wave of silence swept through the room — followed instantly by applause.
My classmates clapped with admiration, and I noticed the expressions on their faces wide-eyed, stunned, inspired. For a moment, every gaze in the room was fixed on me. The girls looked at me differently with a sense of awe that was both flattering and surreal. I could feel the weight of recognition in that moment — a feeling that all the effort, the late nights, the lonely hustle was now being seen.
Then the professor turned to the class and said:
“You should learn from them. These are the people doing something different — something real. Ask them anything. This is your opportunity.”
And with that, the quiet pride in my chest grew into something more meaningful. It wasn’t just applause.
It was respect.
That moment made one thing clear: I wasn’t just another student in the crowd anymore — I had become someone the crowd looked toward.
