College Love Story: Part 1
When Life Was Just Mine
By Puvvukonvict | Published on
My Name is Sushanth...
It was the time I had just joined intermediate college, a new phase, but honestly, nothing felt new to me. My days were carefree, lighthearted, filled with laughter, and a touch of harmless mischief. I was the guy who roamed with friends, bunked classes to catch movies, or played cricket on the dusty grounds of our small town. To some, I was reckless. To me, that was freedom.
A family lived close to ours, just a few meters away—Manasa’s family. I’ve known her since we were kids, calling her akka (sister). But even with our familiar bond, she never really saw me in a good light. Still, my mother and Manasa shared a strong friendship. During holidays, Sundays, or festival breaks, Manasa often stayed at our house. That’s the kind of trust and respect my family held in our neighborhood.
People knew me, but only on the surface. Society rarely looks beneath the surface, doesn’t it? They’re more interested in others’ lives than their own, passing judgments based on assumptions without understanding or context.
Yet, in all that noise, I found my own peace. I never intentionally hurt anyone or crossed lines. I lived my life untangled from society’s meaningless expectations.
That’s Me - Sushanth. Honest, Misunderstood, and Content.
Life Before Love – The Everyday Hero
From the Diaries of Sushanth, JB3 Section (Junior Bi.P.C)
Waking up early? Let’s just say it wasn’t my thing. I’d negotiate with sleep like it was an ex I couldn’t let go of, turning over every time the alarm rang, pretending the world outside didn’t exist. But the real alarm at home wasn’t the clock—it was my mother.
Her techniques? First, shouting my name with increasing intensity. Then, cold water poured with motherly fury. On particularly lazy days, a light kick ensured her “hero” got up to do something useful. I’d wake up—not out of responsibility, but resistance. I couldn’t let her win every time.
After a shower, my next mission was looking perfect. People thought I was careless, but I cared—a lot—about myself. Hair care, body care, picking the right shirt, shoes, and fragrance. I’d spend an hour getting ready like I was walking a red carpet, not a college corridor. To me, every day was a show, and I wasn’t just attending life—I was starring in it.
When I stepped out? Hero entry. Chin up, shoulders back, attitude loaded—not showing off, but carrying confidence mixed with freedom.
From our village, Peddakalvala, we traveled 4 km daily to Peddapalli for college, student bus pass in pocket, dreams in our heads, mischief in our eyes. The bus stop was a world of its own. We’d gather—a bunch of teens with stories, style, and zero plans for the future. Staring at girls (we were still boys), pulling each other’s legs, laughing at senseless jokes. We missed buses, lost in the moment, sometimes foot-boarding, hanging on like warriors, screaming at the wind, holding bags in one hand and life in the other.
At Peddapalli bus stand, we’d pause, waiting for the gang. We never entered college alone—always as a wave, always late to assembly. Our principal hated us but couldn’t help smiling. Despite the late arrivals and loud laughter, we weren’t the hopeless students people thought. We were JB3—Junior Bi.P.C Section—known for chaos, recognized for fun, underestimated for brilliance. Our identity? The Last Bench Association.
From the last bench, we ruled the class, creating a vibe. We listened, whispered, scribbled, laughed, and occasionally got caught. Lecturers saw us as reckless, but they didn’t see the heart behind the attitude. We were above-average, smart when needed, just not wearing seriousness on our sleeves.
Afternoons, when the sun made college feel like a prison, the call of a movie or open sky was louder than the lecturer’s voice. The gate wouldn’t let us out with bags, so we jumped the wall, laughing like fugitives, escaping into freedom.
Sometimes, it wasn’t about movies. We had a spot—a big well, hidden by farmland. That place knew our secrets, dreams, and silences. We’d sit for hours, talking about everything and nothing. No noise, no city, no masks.
Evenings were back at the bus stand—whistles, foot-boarding, chants, random songs. We weren’t passengers; we were the mood of that journey. At home, I’d unwind with 9XM, bobbing to a wild Hindi song, or catch a movie on TV, then meet the local guys, talking about life like we owned it.
The best part? No mobile phones. No blue ticks, no “last seen” drama. Plans were made with a time and place, and we showed up. We lived in the rawest form of friendship—spontaneous, loud, honest, unfiltered.
That Was My Life.
Before love. Before she came in. Before my world changed in ways I never expected. I was Sushanth from JB3—a last-bencher, a rule-breaker, a memory-maker. This was my vibe.
What I thought was just another Sunday… was the beginning of a story I’d never forget.
Want to Follow the Story?
Begin this heart-touching journey from the very first spark of love:
🌟 Part 2 – The Voice That Woke My Soul
🌟 Part 3 – A Glimpse That Changed Everything
🌟 Part 4 – The Smile That Spoke Everything
Relive every glance, every moment, every heartbeat. 💫
1 Comments
Awesome
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