Ten days ago, when April finally began, I had a couple of random thoughts about the fact of it being my last month in Nagpur. I wondered how I could say a fitting goodbye to a city that I had adopted for five years - one that has sheltered me for my college life. It's true that Nagpur wasn't a city that I chose, but one that was allotted to me through an entrance exam. The city didn't choose me either, for I knocked at its doors and could gain entry only through vacancies left open by others who left before I arrived. Nevertheless, it's a city that I adopted as mine. People often argue against child adoption with the strange idea that there cannot be any meaningful bond between the parents and their adopted child because they don't share any genes with each other. I was a very avid Quora surfer at some point in my brief life history and that was where I read a mother write that it isn't their DNA report that a kid will hold up in the air twenty years down the line to certify a bond with their parents; instead, they'll be reminiscing over old, fat photo albums and holding their parents' trembling hands tight to celebrate a triumph of love, which, frankly speaking, is all that matters. Memories, not genes, are what make a bond. The same analogy goes for cities too - I may not have any familial roots in Nagpur, but it is the place where I've made my catalogue of memories that I will possibly recount at every stage of life. Nagpur, apart from home, of course, is a place that has given me a sense of belonging. Every time I left for home or for an internship, I knew that I would always be coming back for something more and to resume some unfinished business, be it to catch up on empty gossip with friends or to simply attend a class, there was something to look forward to. Even when we had to leave Nagpur back in 2020 because of the lockdown, we took strength throughout from the belief that one day, we will all be back together in college again. This time, however, it's the end game, the last goodbye.