I was in my second year of university, and I was known for being daring, energetic, and lively.
It was the beginning of the new academic year, and the first-year students had just arrived at the university. It’s common for upperclassmen to play harmless pranks on the newcomers. A few of my male classmates—whom I truly adore—came up with an idea and said, “Noorin, today you’re going to pretend to be the English teacher for the first-year class, and let’s see how far we can push the joke.”

I gathered all my courage and agreed.

The first-year science class had about 350 students, and the classroom was shaped like a theater—rows of chairs and steps stretching from the bottom all the way up to the back. The room was packed, the students were full of energy and excitement, and I entered the class confidently. I introduced myself as “Miss Frishta, your English teacher.”

The students believed me!

I then walked to the front row, asking the students one by one to introduce themselves. Meanwhile, one of the classmates who had encouraged me to go through with the prank stood at the door, making sure no real professors showed up and spoiled the fun. That gave me the confidence to continue.

Gradually, the class became a bit chaotic with murmurs and giggles—until one student from a senior year recognized me and exposed me: “She’s not a teacher—she’s a student!”

In that moment, I realized the act was over. After three full minutes of pretending, I smiled, waved at the class, and ran out of the room, laughing.

Everyone laughed or smiled. Perhaps some didn’t find it funny, but most of the students enjoyed it. In fact, they kept calling me “Our English Teacher or Ustad Frishta” all the way until we graduated. That always made me smile.

Ah, good memories—they pass by so quickly.

I’ve never hurt anyone with any prank, and I never would. I, infact, am not a fan of pranking or pranksters.
But that prank remains my one and only serious joke, and its memory will stay with me forever !