When Ada first arrived on campus, the world looked golden.

The gates of the university stretched wide like a promise. She had her admission letter in one hand, and in the other—a heart full of dreams. Her mother’s words still echoed in her mind: “Face your books, Ada. University life is not as sweet as it looks.”

But it was hard not to get carried away. Everything was new—new faces, new freedom, new excitement. And among the first people she met was Tony, a final-year student with charm smoother than silk.

He was kind at first. He helped her carry her bag that first day, showed her where her hostel was, and even helped her register for her courses. “Don’t worry, freshie,” he’d say with a smile, “I’ll show you how things work here.”

Soon, Tony became her guide. He took her to social events, bought her snacks, and whispered things that made her blush. Ada thought she was lucky—a senior who cared, who wanted to protect her from the chaos of campus life.

But slowly, things began to change.

Tony started telling her what to wear. He got angry when she spent time with her coursemates. He said she didn’t need friends her age because they were “too childish.” When she missed his calls, he’d get moody.

By the second semester, Ada had missed several lectures. She skipped group assignments, and her grades began to drop. Her friends noticed. “Ada, you’ve changed,” one said softly. But Ada couldn’t see it—until Tony started asking for things she wasn’t ready to give.

He would say, “I’ve done so much for you, haven’t I? Don’t you trust me?”

That night, Ada cried in her room. She realized that what she thought was care had been control. The boy she looked up to saw her not as a student, but as prey.

She gathered courage and broke away, even though it hurt. She blocked his number, changed her routine, and started rebuilding her focus. It wasn’t easy—rumors spread, whispers followed her—but she kept her head high.

By her second year, Ada had found her voice. She began mentoring new students, telling them the things no orientation speech ever mentioned:

“Be careful who you call ‘senior friend.’ Not everyone who smiles at you wants to help you. Some want to use you, break you, or pull you into things you can’t escape

She told them about the “freshers’ trap”—how some final-year students hunt for naïve newcomers with promises of love, money, or protection. She told them how easy it is to fall, and how hard it is to climb back.

But she also told them about strength. About how you can start again, even after mistakes. About how self-respect is more important than acceptance.

Four years later, Ada stood at her convocation ground, smiling for real this time. Not the smile of someone pretending to be happy—but the smile of someone who survived, who learned.

She looked around at the new faces coming through the gates—the next set of 100-level students—and whispered to herself, “May they know their worth before anyone tries to define it for them.”

Moral:University life will introduce you to people who guide you—and people who mislead you. Not every final-year student is a mentor; some are a warning. Learn to see the difference early. Protect your dreams.