Time passed quickly.

The sun set and rose countless times, and eventually, the gentle warmth of spring gave way to the blazing heat of summer.

The second semester had arrived.

It was a cause for celebration.

If it were socially acceptable, I would have stood up, clapped my hands, blown an elephant trumpet, and congratulated myself.

It was like the cultural tradition of celebrating a 70th birthday—a recognition of someone surviving to such an age.

For me, it was similar.

When I first moved into the dormitory at Siyoram Academy, locked in my room and scribbling theoretical notes, I had …