I heard about it in class. But still don't know how to access it. If anyone knows, please help!

I am searching for a module that lets nfc work even when screen is off. There was an old module on this but nothing new. And other method seems outdated. Can somebody please help me. I am using nfc technology a lot these days want to take away the friction of unlocking my phone.

At university, many social circles revolve around parties, alcohol, cigarettes, vapes, and sometimes drugs. There is nothing wrong with being clear that you are not interested. You do not owe anyone a long explanation, and you should never feel pressured to “try it just once” merely to fit in.

Some substances can become addictive, and experimentation may make future use more likely. I have personally met students who were intoxicated around campus, including near the cricket ground and flagpole area. Some of them later admitted that they regretted starting during their first year.

So how do you meet people who are not interested in that lifestyle?

First, become the kind of person you want to meet.

Wake up early. Go running or exercise in the morning. Visit the gym, library, study spaces, academic events, clubs, workshops, and places where people consistently work toward something meaningful. Pay attention to who appears regularly. The people you meet in these environments are more likely to care about their health, education, creativity, or long-term goals.

Most importantly, stop trying to fit into groups that do not reflect your values.

When you force yourself to belong somewhere, you waste your own time and may begin compromising parts of yourself merely to remain accepted. You do not need to be close to everyone. Basic communication with your professors and a few reliable classmates is enough to manage university life. One genuine friend is more valuable than an entire group that makes you uncomfortable.

However, being independent does not mean completely isolating yourself. Learn to enjoy your own company, remain open to healthy connections, and allow friendships to develop naturally through repeated activities and shared values.

My advice is simple: if you cannot immediately find people who are right for you, it is better to spend some time alone than to join a group that constantly pressures you to become someone you are not.

This message is mainly for people who genuinely want to protect their time, health, values, and ambitions. Others are free to live differently.

Do not shrink yourself to fit into the wrong circle.

“You are half right now. Your first task is to become one not to rush into becoming two.” - Einew Xerom

Meaning: become emotionally complete and comfortable with yourself before seeking friendship or a relationship to fill the emptiness.

I would like an honest assessment of how significant this achievement is for an undergraduate student. My research paper was accepted for presentation at the 19th Research Students in Education Conference, hosted at the University of Leeds in the United Kingdom. I have already travelled to Leeds and attended the conference.

I am currently pursuing a B.A. (Hons.) in English Literature at O.P. Jindal Global University. Since this was an international research conference held at a well-known UK university, I would like to understand how it should realistically be evaluated.

Would you consider this a relatively small, moderate, or major academic achievement for an undergraduate student in 2nd year? How competitive or valuable is an international conference acceptance of this kind? Does the fact that I personally attended and presented the research make it more significant? Btw, I also received some grants from college to travel.

I would also appreciate an explanation of how this achievement may strengthen my academic CV, postgraduate applications, scholarship applications, future conference opportunities, and applications to universities such as Oxford. Please assess it honestly.

I would like an honest assessment of how significant this achievement is for an undergraduate student. My research paper was accepted for presentation at the 19th Research Students in Education Conference, hosted at the University of Leeds in the United Kingdom. I have already travelled to Leeds and attended the conference.

I am currently pursuing a B.A. (Hons.) in English Literature at O.P. Jindal Global University. Since this was an international research conference held at a well-known UK university, I would like to understand how it should realistically be evaluated.

Would you consider this a relatively small, moderate, or major academic achievement for an undergraduate student in 2nd year? How competitive or valuable is an international conference acceptance of this kind? Does the fact that I personally attended and presented the research make it more significant? Btw, I also received some rants from college to travel.

I would also appreciate an explanation of how this achievement may strengthen my academic CV, postgraduate applications, scholarship applications, future conference opportunities, and applications to universities such as Oxford. Please assess it honestly.

The Bird Was Fine

At night, I saw a pigeon sitting on the corner of a red railing.
It was perched where the two bars met, above the path below, above the bushes and the yellow lights and the people moving through their own small evenings. Behind it, the trees stood dark and heavy, and above them the sky was open. The bird looked small against all of that, smaller because it was so still.
My friend stopped beside me when she saw where I was looking.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
The pigeon did not move. Not even when a thin wind ran through the leaves. It stayed there on the black edge of the railing, balanced so close to the drop that my body tightened just from looking at it.
“Do you think it’s hurt?” she asked.
I did not know.
It did not look wounded in any visible way. There was no blood, no twisted wing, no obvious sign of damage. And yet something about its stillness unsettled me. The longer I looked, the more its quiet began to feel deliberate.
As if it had chosen that corner.
As if the whole world behind it—the open air, the branches, the distance—had not been enough to make it move.
My friend leaned forward a little, careful, trying to see better without startling it. The pigeon only lowered its head once and then became motionless again.
A few mosquitoes drifted around it in the lamplight. One settled near its neck. Another on its back. The bird barely reacted.
My friend frowned. “Poor thing.”
She always said things like that softly, as though pity itself should not make too much noise.
Then, as if sensing the weight of our attention, the pigeon turned its head and looked straight at me.
Its eye caught the lamplight.
A small black brightness. Still. Unblinking. For a second it did not feel like an animal’s eye at all, but like some dark thought given shape and set outside me. Something in me recoiled from it—not from fear exactly, but from the discomfort of being recognized before I had said anything, before I had even known what there was to say.
Then it looked away, and the night became only night again.
My friend took a small step toward it.
I reached out without thinking and caught her wrist, lightly, just enough to stop her.
She turned to me.
“Wait,” I said.
I let go at once. “If it gets scared, it might fall.”
She looked back at the pigeon, then at the railing, then below. At night the distance always looked greater than it was. The lights made the ground feel farther away.
“Then what do we do?”
I had no answer. I only knew that I did not want her going too close.
The pigeon stood where it was, above the red bars, above the drop, above our concern. It looked fragile and stubborn at once, the kind of fragile thing that might break not only from harm, but from help.
My friend crouched a little so that she was lower than it. “Maybe if we just guide it away from the corner.”
Her voice had changed. She was speaking the way one speaks to frightened animals, or frightened people—softly, with pauses between words, as if even language should arrive gently.
The pigeon did not fly.
It did not even turn.
It only stayed there, and the longer it stayed there, the more certain I became that it was not resting at all.
I kept my eyes on it and said, “Don’t rush.”
My friend glanced at me. “I’m not.”
“I know.”
But the words came out sharper than I meant them to.
She studied my face for a second, then looked away. She did not argue. She only straightened a little and stayed where she was, near enough to help, far enough not to force it.
That made me strangely uneasy too.
There was something familiar in the way she remained there—present, patient, not leaving, not coming too close. As if she already knew that some things grow more frightened the moment they feel surrounded.
Below us, someone laughed on the path. The sound rose and disappeared. A scooter passed outside the campus wall. Leaves shifted. Light trembled on the ground.
The pigeon did not move.
“It’s strange,” my friend said quietly. “Why would it sit there like that?”
I swallowed. “Maybe it’s tired.”
She nodded a little, as if that might be true.
But the word stayed with me after I said it.
Tired.
Not of flight, perhaps. Not even of the day. Just tired enough to sit above a drop and not care about the height. Tired enough to let mosquitoes feed from you without protest.
My friend took another slow step, her shoes making almost no sound.
Again the pigeon did not move.
I could feel my breath shorten. In my mind, everything already had the sharpness of disaster: the sudden slip, the frightened flutter, the body dropping through the dark. I could see it before anything had happened. That was the worst part. The ease with which I could see it.
My friend raised one hand, stopping well short of the bird. “Come on,” she whispered, as if asking rather than commanding.
The pigeon shifted once. Only a slight movement of the body. But it was enough to make my chest tighten.
“Leave it,” I said.
She turned. “If we leave it there, what if—”
She stopped. Neither of us finished the sentence.
For a second we both looked at the bird again.
Then my friend lowered her hand.
“All right,” she said. “We’ll wait.”
So we waited.
The night went on around us. The lights below stayed bright. The red railing held its dull shine under them. Somewhere in the bushes a sound rustled and faded. A moth battered itself against a lamp. The pigeon remained at the corner as though pinned there by some invisible thought.
My friend stood beside me quietly now. Not speaking. Not leaving.
I looked at the bird, then at her, then at the bird again.
She had always known how to stand near things without frightening them. That was what I noticed most in that moment. The way she did not insist. The way she gave room. The way her concern never arrived like a hand around the throat.
Maybe that was why I had never known what to do with it.
Because some forms of kindness are so careful they feel like distance until you finally see what they are protecting.
After a while, she said, “I’m going to try once more.”
Before I could answer, she moved.
Not quickly. Not enough to startle anything. Just one small, careful step and a slight motion of her hand toward the open side, as if showing the bird that there was still somewhere else to go.
The pigeon opened its wings.
For one terrible second I thought I had been right.
But it did not fall.
It rose.
It lifted from the railing in one clean movement, crossed the dark air with effortless certainty, and disappeared into the trees.
My friend let out the breath she had been holding and laughed softly, almost in relief.
“See?” she said. “It was fine.”
I kept looking at the empty corner.
The railing was only a railing now. Red paint. Black metal. A place where a bird had paused for a few minutes and then left. The path below was unchanged. The lights were unchanged. The trees were unchanged.
Beside me, my friend said something else, but I did not hear it.
I was still staring at the place where the pigeon had been.
And then it came back to me—that same thought. The one that visits when everything stops making sense. The one that does not arrive like panic, but like clarity.
The kind of thought that comes when you stand too close to a railing and look down long enough for the darkness below to arrange itself into something familiar. Something lying on the ground. A body that belonged to you.
Or still belongs to you.
It is hard to tell.
Because you are still here. Still standing. Still looking.
When I finally turned toward my friend, she stopped mid-sentence.
I do not know what she saw on my face. Only that she looked at me strangely then, and said my name once, softly.
But I could not answer.
I remained there beside the empty railing, under the night sky.
I stood frozen, knowing.

I have been trying for past 2hrs. I have a smasung s20 ultra of the same mode that Lineage os is offered for. I flash the recovery image. And as soon as it goes 100%. I press the vol down + power and then as it gets a black screen I press power + vol up. But it always open up in android recovery and not in Lineage recovery. I have tried different versions of power button + vol up to after blacck screen initially then just pushing the vol up button. Please help. I really want to enjoy the os.