Rayii… POV

  I felt the soil of New?Zealand beneath me—even if only through the wheels of the aircraft. As the cabin doors opened, a rush of cool, crisp air greeted me, carrying a faint scent of the sea mixed with the sterile freshness of the airport.

  Inside the terminal, everything felt new and slightly overwhelming. Bright signs in English and Māori welcomed me with “Kia Ora”, a phrase I had never heard before but instantly felt warm and inviting. The lines at immigration seemed endless, yet every officer’s smile carried a calm reassurance. My passport was stamped, marking the beginning of a new chapter.

  At baggage claim, I watched the carousel spin, my eyes darting between bags until mine appeared. I gripped the handle tightly, then I lift and put it down. Around me, announcements echoed in accents that sounded both familiar and foreign. The airport felt like a crossroads of cultures—students, tourists, families—all converging in this gateway to the country.

  Finally stepping out into the arrivals hall, I noticed posters of universities, travel brochures, and friendly volunteers offering directions. It was my first time abroad, and every detail—the polished floors, the hum of conversations, the sight of buses waiting outside—felt like part of a grand adventure.

  The very first thing I had to do was transfer my money into New?Zealand dollars. I found the currency exchange counter inside the airport, handed over my notes, and felt the weight of crisp bills in my hand—my first NWD.

  After that, I spotted a cab standing empty outside. Pulling my suitcase along, I walked toward it. I took out my phone, showed the driver the address, and asked, “I need to go here. How much will it cost?”

  He adjusted his suit jacket, smiled, and said, “Oh yeah, sixty NWD.”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s too much. Lower it, please.”

  He looked at me carefully, then asked, “First time here?”

  I nodded.

  “Alright then,” he said with a grin, “thirty?eight NWD. I can’t go lower than that, miss.”

  I nodded again, accepting. He lifted my luggage and placed it in the car’s trunk. I slid into the passenger seat behind him, settling into the cushion. He glanced back and asked, “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, please,” I replied softly, my voice carrying both nerves and excitement.

  And with that, the cab pulled away from the airport, carrying me toward the dormitory—and the beginning of my new life.

  “I arrived in Nyu Ji Rando…” I whispered in my mind while gazing out the car window. Ah, don’t get me wrong—actually, in Japanese it’s called Nyu Ji Rando. My brother Temang watches anime all the time, and because of him I’ve picked up a few words here and there. I truly like them too like anime ga suki desu, so some phrases and little things I’ve learned along the way.

  I chuckled quietly to myself, the laughter staying in my mind as the city rolled past outside.

  After a while, the car stopped. I didn’t realize at first, but after five minutes the driver turned to me and said, “We have arrived.”

  I looked at him, uncertain. “Are we?” I asked.

  He nodded, gave me a smile, and teased, “Excited, huh?”

  I added softly, “Nervous too.”

  He smiled again, and I couldn’t help but smile back. Then I stepped out of the cab. The driver pulled my suitcase from the trunk and handed it to me. I gave him his fare, and he accepted it with a warm grin. “Enjoy your time in New?Zealand,” he said, before heading off into the traffic.

  I stood there for a moment, apart from him now, and then turned slowly. In front of me, only a few steps away, rose the enormous building that would be my new home: University Hall Towers. The sleek glass rising high above me, pale grey concrete panels gleaming with white accents under Auckland’s restless sky. Standing at its base, I felt small, yet a spark of excitement burned inside me.

  Clutching my suitcase, I stepped closer. Inside, I knew there were furnished rooms, study lounges, and kitchens waiting—spaces alive with voices and quiet corners for dreams. The lobby’s glass doors opened toward the city, and I felt it: this wasn’t just a building. It was the gateway to my new beginning.

  On the outside, there were a few small stalls and cafés clustered near the base of University Hall Towers. Students passed through them with coffee cups in hand, laughter spilling into the air. I wheeled my suitcase past the crowd, the scent of roasted beans and fresh bread following me as I moved toward the entrance.

  Inside, the atmosphere shifted. The lobby opened wide with tall glass doors and polished floors that reflected the overhead lights. A reception desk stood at the center, where staff greeted new arrivals with warm smiles. To one side, a lounge stretched out with soft chairs and students chatting in low voices. Farther in, corridors led to study rooms and communal kitchens, spaces already alive with the hum of daily life.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  I paused, taking it all in—the blend of city energy outside and the promise of community within. This wasn’t just a dormitory; it felt like the threshold to a new chapter. Ah, I know you all must be bored of hearing about my beginning, my new chapter… like these phrases, but you know, when a dream stands right before your eyes, even if you repeat the same words again and again, you just can’t stop yourself.

  Clutching my suitcase again, I walked toward the reception desk, each step heavy with nerves and anticipation. Behind the desk sat a woman in a crisp uniform, her smile calm and practiced, as though she had welcomed countless students before me. I paused, steadying my breath, then placed my passport and acceptance letter on the counter.

  “First time here?” she asked warmly.

  I nodded, my voice catching. “Yes… my first time.”

  She tapped at her computer, then slid a keycard across the desk. “Welcome to University Hall Towers. This is your room key. You’ll find the elevators just to your left.” While lifted her hand and motioned to the left, guiding the way.

  I took the card, my fingers trembling slightly. For a moment, I stood there, absorbing the weight of it. The receptionist gave me another reassuring smile, and I managed to smile back before turning toward the elevators, my suitcase rolling behind me.

  I walked toward the elevator. There were a few boys and girls already waiting there, laughing and talking together. They looked like friends, their voices light and easy, filling the space with a warmth that made me feel both curious and shy.

  I was standing inside the elevator, the key card still in my hand. It said my dorm was on the eleventh floor. Beside me, a girl glanced at me with a smile and said gently, “You can press your floor.”

  I bowed slightly in thanks, then reached out and pressed the button for level eleven. The elevator hummed upward, carrying us higher.

  After a short while, the doors slid open. I stepped out, then turned back for a moment. The girl was inside, smiling at me. I smiled back and bowed once more before the doors closed between us.

  The air felt quieter here, almost hushed, as though the building itself knew this was where students came to rest after long days. A gallery?like hallway stretched before me, lined with pale walls and soft lighting. The carpet muffled my footsteps as I pulled my suitcase along, passing doors marked with neat numbers. Voices drifted faintly from somewhere down the corridor—laughter, a door closing, the shuffle of someone’s shoes.

  I stopped at Room 1102. My hand trembled slightly as I slid the key card into the slot. A green light blinked, and the door clicked open.

  Inside, the room was simple but welcoming: A single bed stood neatly made with crisp white sheets. A desk waited by the window, its surface bare except for a lamp. The wardrobe stood tall in the corner. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting the floor in soft gold.

  Curious, I slid the glass door open and stepped onto the balcony. From the eleventh floor, the city stretched out beneath me—streets winding with cars, the distant hum of Queen Street, and the green canopy of Albert Park visible like a patch of calm among the buildings. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain, and for a moment I felt as though the whole of Auckland was waiting just for me.

  Back inside, I explored further. The bathroom was compact but modern, tiled in soft grey with a clean white sink and mirror above it. A shower stall stood neatly to one side, its glass door shining under the light. Everything smelled faintly of disinfectant, fresh and new, as if it had been prepared just for my arrival.

  I set my suitcase down, breathing in the quiet of the room.

  I lay down on the bed, facing the ceiling. Stretching out my arms and legs, I sank into the softness—it was so gentle, so restful against my tired body. A deep sigh escaped me, and then, slowly, I closed my eyes.

  Suddenly, my eyes snapped wide open at the sound of a voice—it was my phone. I sat up quickly, reached into my pocket, and pulled it out. On the screen, I saw the caller ID: my father.

  “Oh, shit,” I whispered, giving myself a light slap on the cheek. Of course—they must be worried. I hadn’t even told them I’d arrived. How could I forget?

  With a rush of guilt, I hurried to answer. The screen lit up, and it was a video call.

  The screen lit up, and my father’s face appeared. “Oh, my child! Are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of relief.

  I opened my mouth to answer, “I’m okay,” but before I could say more, Temang leaned in beside him, his voice sharp with anger. “Do you even know how worried everyone was? Just because you’ve reached so far away doesn’t mean you can forget all of us!”

  Guilt washed over me, and I whispered a small, “Sorry.” While lowering my head.

  Then I heard a smack—perhaps my father had tapped Temang lightly. I looked up to see Temang pouting, turning to his father. “Why did you hit me? I was right! Didn’t you see how worried Mum was? And you too, Papa.” His words ended in frustration.

  My father’s tone softened. “Arrey! she must have been busy, my little girl. A new country, a new city, new people… in all of that, she must have forgotten for a moment.”

  Still, Temang glanced at me, pulling a strange, exaggerated face. “Hmph,” he muttered. I couldn’t help but smile at his theatrics.

  Father looked at him, puzzled, as if he didn’t understand. Temang sighed, then said, “Fine, fine, I get it now.” Father nodded gently and placed his hand on Temang’s shoulder, calming him.

  From the looks of it, they were sitting in the living room on the sofa. Just then, from behind, Mum appeared—her face worried at first, then breaking into a wide smile. “Oh my! We miss you. Have you reached?”

  I smiled back. “Yes, I’ve reached.” Turning the camera, I showed them the back view of my new room. “See, Mum, Papa—this is my room, and here’s my balcony.” Switching again to the front camera, I added, “You know, I got a room on the eleventh floor.”

  Father and Mother smiled together. “Live well, and don’t spend too much time near the balcony,” they cautioned gently. I reassured them, and we talked about everything—how I missed them too, about the airport, the taxi ride, and finally the University Hall Towers. They listened closely, nodding, and then shared their own updates.

  Temang leaned in, announcing proudly, “I shifted all my things into my new room.” I didn’t say much, only replied with a playful, “Fine, you keep that. I have this—so big,” while watching him pout. He looked so cute that I couldn’t help but smile.

  The call stretched on for more than an hour, full of laughter, stories, and reassurances. At last, we ended it with promises to stay safe.

  I stood up, placed all my belongings neatly in their places, then quickly showered and dressed. Gathering my documents into a small shoulder bag, I clicked my room key once more and stepped out. Standing before the elevator, I waited—ready for the next step in my new journey.

  . . .

  Kia Ora! ??