out of the CSA bubble.

no people in corridors, no brushing through crowds, no tiptoping at the notice boards, no settling into upholstered seats, no more constant awareness of training and being trained, no more eyes.

my room overlooks the tennis courts, and firewood. the view tinged by orange, early morning.

the always-spruced gardens, the well-tended borders, the bushes the only sign that nature's putting back a fight.

then the late night strolls and scampering across the slowly-familiarizing terrain. but always the cold air.

and my favorite spot, underneath a tree, below the canvas of the sky, awash with the orange of bulbs. hidden, but not secluded. the grounds infront, the people at bay, someone's paan left over on my left, and escape all around.