Short Paragraph on My First Day at School

My first day at school was both exciting and scary. My mother dressed me in a new uniform and tied my tie. When we reached the school gate, I saw hundreds of children playing in the big yard. A kind teacher named Mrs. Rahman held my hand and took me to my classroom. She told me my seat number was seven. I shared my lunch box with a boy named Arif. At the end of the day, my father came to pick me up. I was happy because I made a new friend.

I still remember my first day at Sunrise Primary School. My mother woke me up at six in the morning and helped me wear my new navy-blue uniform. My father carried my heavy school bag, and we walked ten minutes to reach the school gate. The building was painted yellow, and a large banner read “Welcome New Students.” Inside the classroom, our teacher Mrs. Akter introduced herself and wrote her name on the blackboard. She told us the school rules: no shouting in the hallway, raise your hand before speaking, and always be kind to classmates. During the lunch break, a girl named Fatima shared her tiffin with me. She lived on the same street as my house. By the end of the day, I had learned the names of three new friends and felt proud that I could find my way to the toilet and the drinking water tap without asking anyone.

My first day at National School and College is a memory I treasure deeply. I was ten years old, and my parents had chosen this school because of its reputation for excellent science teachers. Early in the morning, my mother packed my bag with three textbooks, two notebooks, a geometry box, and a water bottle. My father drove me to school, and the morning sun lit up the red-brick entrance. I found my classroom on the second floor and saw about forty desks arranged in neat rows. The class teacher, Mr. Hossain, took attendance and then gave a short speech about discipline. He said that respect for teachers and honesty would guide us throughout the year. During the first period, the English teacher read a poem about nature and asked us to underline words we did not know. I underlined twelve words. At recess, I explored the school library and discovered it had over three thousand books. I borrowed “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” and promised myself to return it within a week. When the final bell rang at two o’clock, I walked home with a lighter bag and a fuller heart.

The first day at Dhaka Residential Model School was a turning point in my life. My father woke me at five thirty, and my mother prepared paratha and eggs for breakfast. We took a rickshaw because the school was on the other side of the city. When I entered the campus, I saw a large cricket ground, a swimming pool, and a three-story academic building painted white and blue. The admission office gave me a roll number: 17-C. I walked to classroom C and found the desks already labeled with names. My class teacher, Mrs. Salma Khatun, had twenty years of teaching experience. She explained the weekly timetable, the grading system, and the homework policy. She also warned us about bullying and said any student caught bullying would face immediate suspension. During the first science lesson, Mr. Kabir showed us a working model of the solar system with spinning planets made of Styrofoam balls. At lunch, I sat with three boys from my neighborhood who were already enrolled. We talked about cricket players like Shakib Al Hasan and Virat Kohli. After school, my father was waiting at the gate with a bag of sweets. I ate two rasgullas on the way home and told him everything about my new teachers and new friends.

My first day at Viqarunnisa Noon School and College was a blend of nervousness and excitement that I can still recall clearly. My parents had prepared everything a week in advance: my uniform was ironed, my shoes were polished, and my bag contained all the required books listed on the school website. We left home at six fifteen in the morning to avoid the notorious Mirpur Road traffic jam. The school campus spread over twelve acres with separate buildings for junior and senior sections. I reported to the senior building, where a notice board displayed the class assignments. I was placed in class eight, section B, roll number twelve. The classroom had a ceiling fan, a projector screen, and a wooden teacher’s desk at the front. Our class teacher, Mr. Rafiq Ahmed, began the day by asking each student to stand and introduce themselves. When it was my turn, I said my name, my previous school, and my hobby of playing chess. Mr. Ahmed nodded and said the school had a chess club that met every Wednesday. During the first mathematics lesson, the teacher revised the Pythagorean theorem and gave us a ten-question worksheet. I finished eight questions correctly. At recess, the cafeteria sold samosas for five taka each and cold drinks for ten taka. I bought one samosa and shared it with my benchmate, Tanvir. By the time school ended at three o’clock, I had learned my timetable, my locker number, and the names of five classmates who lived near my house. Walking home, I felt confident that this school would give me the education and friendships I needed for a bright future.

Stepping into Class 9 at Notre Dame College, Dhaka on my first day felt like entering a world of serious academics and high expectations. I had scored a GPA of 5.00 in my JSC examination, and my parents expected me to maintain that standard. The college building stood tall on Mymensingh Road, a landmark known across the country for producing top SSC and HSC results. I found my classroom in the science building on the third floor. The room was equipped with a smart board, air conditioning units, and rows of benches that could seat fifty students. The class teacher, Mr. Dr. Anisur Rahman, held a PhD in chemistry from Dhaka University. He began the session by distributing the year-long syllabus for Physics, Chemistry, Higher Mathematics, and Biology. He explained the internal assessment system, which counted twenty marks for each subject through practical work, presentations, and attendance. During the first physics period, the teacher demonstrated static electricity by rubbing a glass rod with silk and attracting small paper pieces. I raised my hand and asked why the rod became positive, and the teacher praised my curiosity. At lunch, the canteen served rice, dal, and chicken curry for thirty taka. I sat with two friends from my previous school and we discussed the SSC preparation strategy. After classes, the college library stayed open until five o’clock. I borrowed a guidebook on Higher Mathematics and decided to solve ten problems every night. On the way home, my father asked about my first impressions, and I told him the teachers were knowledgeable and the campus was well maintained. That night, I set my alarm for five o’clock the next morning, determined to build a disciplined routine from the very beginning.

My first day at Holy Cross College in Dhaka was an experience that shaped my academic outlook for two critical years. After scoring a GPA of 5.00 in my SSC examination under the Dhaka Board, I was admitted to the Science group with Physics, Chemistry, Higher Mathematics, and Biology as my subjects. The college, established in 1950 by the Holy Cross Fathers, is located onNazimuddin Road and has produced numerous doctors, engineers, and civil servants. I arrived at seven forty-five in the morning and found the main hall decorated with welcome banners. My classroom was on the second floor of Building A, and it had a large whiteboard, a ceiling fan, and a notice board displaying the class routine. The class coordinator, Sister Mary, welcomed us and explained the college rules: classes begin at eight o’clock sharp, lateness is recorded and reported to parents, and any student caught using a mobile phone during class will have the device confiscated. The first period was Chemistry, and the professor, Dr. Subrata Barua, wrote the electron configuration of Carbon on the board and asked if anyone could explain why Carbon forms four covalent bonds. I volunteered and explained that Carbon has four valence electrons and needs four more to complete its octet. Dr. Barua smiled and said my concept was correct. During the Biology period, the teacher showed us a detailed diagram of the human heart and explained the difference between oxygenated and deoxygenated blood. At recess, the canteen sold sandwiches and tea. I spent the break talking to a classmate named Ruma who wanted to become a surgeon. After college, I visited the library and discovered it had a collection of over ten thousand volumes, including past HSC question papers arranged by year and subject. I photocopied the last five years of Chemistry papers and planned to solve them during the winter vacation. Walking home through the busy streets of Dhaka, I felt a strong sense of purpose. The teachers were rigorous, the syllabus was demanding, and the competition was fierce. I knew that only consistent hard work and proper time management would help me achieve my goal of gaining admission to Dhaka Medical College.

My first day at university was a moment that symbolized the culmination of years of effort, late-night study sessions, and the unwavering support of my family. I had been admitted to the Department of English at the University of Dhaka after passing the highly competitive admission test, which saw over seventy thousand candidates competing for approximately one thousand seats in the Faculty of Arts. The morning of my first day, I woke at five thirty, performed the Fajr prayer, and ate a breakfast of porota and egg bhurji that my mother had prepared with extra care. I wore a crisp white shirt and dark trousers because my father told me that first impressions last. The university campus at Nilkhet was buzzing with activity: buses honked on Shahbagh Road, students walked in clusters carrying books, and the iconic Curzon Hall stood majestically in the distance with its red-brick Mughal-Gothic architecture. I found the Department of English in the Arts Building on the second floor. The hallway had notice boards covered with notices about orientation programs, cultural events, and library memberships. I reported to the department office, where a clerk checked my admission papers and assigned me to section A of the first semester. The classroom had wooden benches arranged in a semicircle, and the blackboard was freshly erased. Our class coordinator, Professor Dr. Rafiqul Islam, began the session with a brief history of the department, which was founded in 1921 and has since produced Nobel laureate Amartya Sen, poet Shamsur Rahman, and filmmaker Tareque Masud. He explained the credit system, the attendance requirement of seventy-five percent, and the final examination pattern. The first literature lecture was on Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 18,” and the teacher read the opening lines aloud: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.” She asked us to analyze the extended metaphor and write a one-page response by the next class. At lunch, I ate at the Central Students Canteen, where a plate of rice and fish curry cost forty taka. I sat with three new classmates: one from Sylhet who spoke with a charming accent, one from Chittagong who wanted to study linguistics, and one from Comilla who dreamed of becoming a university professor. After classes ended at two o’clock, I walked through the campus gardens, past the Botanical Garden, and stopped at the Dhaka University Central Library. I obtained a library card, borrowed two books on English Romantic Poetry, and promised myself to read at least thirty pages every evening. On the bus home, I reflected on the day’s events and realized that university life would demand far more independence, critical thinking, and time management than school or college had ever required. I felt both humbled and motivated, knowing that the road ahead would be challenging but immensely rewarding.