I sit on my bed, staring at the worn-out textbook that has been my constant companion and tormentor. The words blur together, mocking me silently. Every time I try to focus, my mind slips away, leaving me staring at nothing. I can already hear my parents in my head before they even enter the room: "If you can't study, get a job. Stop wasting your life, Arjun."
I've tried. I really have. But nothing ever seems enough. Not for them. Not for anyone.
"Arjun!" my father shouts from the kitchen, his voice sharp, full of irritation and disappointment. "Are you even trying? Or is laziness all you're capable of?"
My mother cuts in, her words like knives. "Every day you sit there doing nothing! How long do you plan to ruin your life? Your friends are moving forward, your classmates are achieving… and you? Nothing!"
I want to scream back. I want to tell them I'm not lazy, that I try, that I can't help how my mind refuses to retain anything. But the words catch in my throat. I've said it all before. They don't care. They've already labeled me a failure.
"Maybe I am," I whisper, more to myself than to them.
"Maybe you are!" my mother snaps. "You've been a disappointment for years! To your friends, to your teachers, to yourself! You're letting everyone down!"
Worthless. Failure. Pathetic. Their voices echo in my head like a relentless drumbeat. Every disappointed glance, every sigh, every scolding sentence drives a hollow hole deeper into my chest.
I remember last semester, when Professor Rao read my assignment aloud in class. He called it "incompetent," and the laughter of my classmates still rings in my ears. I tried to shrug it off, but no one pretended to care. Even my friends stopped talking to me, silently deciding I was too much of a burden.
"Look at you, Arjun," my father sneered last night. "You'll end up like your cousin — a nobody, sitting around blaming the world for your misery! Is that what you want?"
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he didn't understand, that I was trying in the only way I could. But I didn't. Words fail me now. I just nodded, letting their anger wash over me. Arguing never changes anything. It only sharpens their disappointment.
"Do you even hear yourself?" my mother barked. "A grown man, unable to study, unable to work, unable to live! You've got nothing to offer!"
I sank further into my bed, hiding my face. Shame spread through me like poison. I am nothing. A ghost in my own life, haunted by the expectations of others and by my own inability to rise.
I had dreams once. Big dreams. I wanted to travel, to write, to make something meaningful with my life. But dreams cost money, courage, and opportunity — things I never had. So I buried them quietly, telling myself that pretending they don't exist hurts less than feeling their absence every day.
Sometimes I think about disappearing. To leave everything behind and vanish. Maybe then the constant scolding, the whisper of failure in my own mind would stop. But even that requires strength I don't have. I can't even fail with style. I just fail, quietly, painfully, endlessly.
I glance at the mirror. Pale. Hollow eyes. Unkempt hair. A shadow of the boy who once imagined something more. They call me a failure, and they're right. I can't meet anyone's expectations — not my parents', not society's, not even my own. Slowly, I've stopped trying.
I hear my father muttering about responsibilities, my mother sighing with exasperation, and I feel myself shrink further into gray. Everything I touch turns gray — my ambitions, my laughter, my life. Even hope has lost its color.
I am Arjun. A failure. A ghost haunting a life I never got to live.
Wind whistling harshly through the streets
Thud. Something heavy hitting the ground
"Arjun! Arjun!" My parents' voices pierce through the air as they rush out of the house, panic in every syllable.
But I can't hear them now.
Everything blurs. Lights, faces, the noise of the city — all dissolving into a haze of gray.
My eyes close, slowly, for the last time.