Ayaan came in late for our first session. There was a heaviness to him—not just from the rejection letters, but from the weight of expectations. “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life,” he confessed.

Rather than dive into course lists or transfer strategies, I invited him to complete a worksheet titled: “What broke you? What built you?” He began revisiting moments where he felt fragmented—and those where he felt whole. Patterns emerged: long-form writing, public speaking, stories that made people think.

He had a passion for storytelling and social justice, but had never framed it as an identity. We introduced a Kanban board with three columns: “To Explore,” “In Progress,” and “Done.” Ayaan pinned tasks such as shadowing a reporter, pitching op-eds, and volunteering at a local civic initiative. Each week, he updated the board—not just with checkmarks, but also with mood ratings.

When applying again, he wrote with depth. There were no gimmicks. His personal statement began with a protest he documented, and how his lens shifted from apathy to responsibility.

He was accepted at his dream school with a scholarship. But the real win was this: “I failed,” he told me in our last session, “but then I found myself.”