The strangest part about leaving is not the act itself — it is realizing the moment I say goodbye will never feel final enough.

We spend four years chasing the next milestone, barely pausing between AP exams and cafeteria conversations. But now, with college decisions finalized and our last assignments submitted, I find myself lingering in the in-betweens: the walk from the parking lot to The Sidekick newsroom, the rustling of pass slips in the classes my teachers allow me to buffer between, the loud chatter in the hallways that transport my Coppell High School self back to the busy streets of Delhi, India. 

Nostalgia feels less like a feeling and more like a weight I cannot put down.

I always thought nostalgia was about missing people or places. But what I have realized is that it is more about grieving versions of myself — the freshman who was set on being a people pleaser, the sophomore who finally found her place, the junior who held it together for everyone else and finally, the senior who pretended letting go would be easy.

In the rush to grow up, I never expected to mourn the mundane.

What surprises me most is how precious the ordinary has become: putting our phones away each class just to interact with one another, the off-key birthday songs during lunch, the hallways smelling like expired perfume. It is almost cruel the way high school becomes most beautiful at the very end, just like a sunset you only start to appreciate once it is nearly gone.

Yet if there is one place that I will miss the most, or rather, one room with an adviser glued behind his desk, it is D115 and The Sidekick adviser Chase Wofford. 

The Sidekick was not just another activity to add to my resume, it became my lifeline these past three years. It was the first place that took my voice seriously. It gave me a deadline when life felt chaotic. It gave me a team of hard-working staff members who frequently inspired me to work harder. It gave me something to believe in when I wasn’t sure I ever believed in myself.

Through headlines and frantic typing, countless interviews and print week delirium, I learned how to tell others’ stories — and in the process, I learned how to tell my story.

I have always been someone who holds on. I save letters, Polaroids, name tags, even sticky notes from little messages my mom leaves me every time in high school she goes out of town. And now, I have a Senior 2025 memory box tucked under my bed, overflowing with trinkets from The Sidekick, but it is not merely a box. It’s a time capsule of who I became.

Being a part of this staff taught me how to lead, how to listen, how to wrestle with imperfection and still hit “publish” regardless. Journalism taught me that words are powerful, but the people behind them are what make them matter. 

One person in particular I owe a thank you to is Mr. Wofford, to whom I owe my newly developed voice and mindset. Had he not gently nudged my sophomore year self, the girl hiding behind a camera, to take a chance on writing, I never would have discovered what would become the most defining part of my high school experience.

I still remember the first time he explained to us why our stories matter. The bylines, the interviews, the awards; they all originate back to his belief in me. Mr. Wofford did not just teach me journalism — he taught me that my words could move people, and when I doubted myself, he never did.

I grew in D115. I succeeded here. I stressed here. I laughed here. I found my people here. To say that I’m leaving a piece of myself behind doesn’t feel right — The Sidekick did not take a piece of me. Instead, it made me whole. 

I have learned that I am someone who holds on tightly: to moments, to memories, to the people who made this place feel like home. That ache I have been ignoring for the past couple of weeks, with graduation approaching? It is not just sadness. It is love disguised as longing.

So for The Sidekick, this is my last byline, my final column and last tribute to Coppell Student Media — not just as executive features editor or a writer, but as a girl who found her voice through a publication that believed she had something worth saying.

And that is what I’ll carry with me in my new box: not just accolades or a college acceptance, but the sacred simplicity of having belonged somewhere so deeply that it makes it so sad to leave.

Thank you, Sidekick. You made me who I am. To whoever sits in the window corner on the carpet next, enjoy the ride.

Follow Rhea (@rhea_choud) and @CHSCampusNews on X.