When I look back… I see a boy who didn't understand the world. He thought the classroom was his entire universe, that friends would stay forever, and that pain was something temporary. But life… had other plans. That boy was me.
And so… to truly understand that boy, we must go back. Back to the very beginning.
My story was already being written in ways I couldn't control. This is the journey of that boy—the old me—walking through life like an anime character, facing scenes of joy, pain, and everything in between. And it all began… with my birth.
I was born in Karachi, the heart of Pakistan—a city that never sleeps. My family was middle class, not poor but never rich, always balancing life between survival and small comforts. Both my parents were teachers. My father was gentle and kind, the type of man whose smile could erase your fears. My mother, on the other hand, was stricter. She wanted discipline, but under that sternness was kindness—her love was steady, even if not always soft.
For the first four years, life was simple. Days passed quietly, filled with the small rhythm of family life. My father would often bring home little things that made us smile, and my mother would push us toward discipline and learning. To me, it felt balanced, even if I didn't fully understand it back then.
Then everything shifted when we moved to a small town in Lahore. My mother began teaching at a government school there. It was supposed to be a fresh start, but in truth, it was the beginning of a new chapter in my family's story—one where shadows started creeping in, though I, just a child, remained blissfully unaware.
It happened one day, in that small town. I made my younger brother run too fast while we were playing, and he fell—hard. His little arm broke, and the sound of his cry still echoes in my ears. My mother rushed him to the nearest hospital, her face pale with fear. She had no money in her purse, so she borrowed from someone just to get my brother treated.
That night, when my father came home, instead of relief, anger filled the house. He scolded my mother for borrowing money, his voice sharp like a blade. He was even ready to divorce her over it. But I was just a child, too young to understand the cracks forming in my home.
Weeks later, we moved again—to another town. My world was changing too fast, but there was light waiting for me. On the first day of prep class at my new school, I met Shan. He became my very first friend. Together, we laughed, played, and passed four years side by side. For the first time, I felt the joy of having someone who wasn't family, but felt like one.
But was this. A happy going