When Anchal first walked into the classroom as a Lakshya fellow, she wasnโt sure if she belonged there. The girls she worked with came from realities where dreams were a luxuryโwhere survival came before ambition. She saw the doubt in their eyes, the weight of their circumstances pressing down on their shoulders.
One girl, Neha, reminded Anchal of herself. Bright, curious, but hesitantโafraid to dream too big, because what if it was taken away? Neha wanted to be a journalist, but every time she spoke of it, her voice wavered. “Didi, what if I fail?” she once asked.
Anchal knew that fear. She had lived it. The fear that if something is truly yours, it shouldnโt feel so fragile. But she also knew this: Fear doesnโt mean we arenโt meant for something. It means it matters.
So she didnโt let Neha shrink her dreams. Together, they practiced speaking up, writing, questioning. Anchal didnโt just teachโshe showed her that fear and courage can exist together. And the more Neha wrote, the more her voice found its power.
๐๐ณ ๐๐โ๐ ๐ ๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ป๐ ๐๐ผ ๐๐ฒ, ๐ช๐ต๐ ๐๐ผ ๐ฌ๐ผ๐ ๐๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ฟ ๐๐ผ๐๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐๐?
It happens because someone dares to make it so. Like Anchal. Like Neha. Like every Lakshya fellow who chooses to fight fear with action.
So if youโre afraid of losing what you loveโfight for it anyway. Thatโs how change is born.