By the time I entered 6th grade, life began to test me in ways I wasn't prepared for. Even though I excelled at almost everything, the world barely noticed. Teachers rejected me from dance competitions without even seeing me perform, just because I was chubby. My talents went unseen, and the recognition I craved felt like a dream always just out of reach. Friends were few, and the warmth of companionship felt like a distant memory. School became a monotonous routine—go to class, come home, sit silently, repeat. Happiness was a stranger I occasionally glimpsed from afar.
Then came summer vacation, bringing with it a spark of excitement—the first stirrings of what I would later understand as love. A new family moved into our neighborhood. They had three brothers and one sister. The eldest brother caught my eye immediately—tall, dark-skinned, with hair that shone in the sun like silk. He moved with confidence, and even the way he smiled made the world feel lighter. My heart fluttered in a way it had never done before. It was the silly, dreamy feeling of a first crush, the kind of magic I had seen in movies. For the first time, it felt like my life could hold a secret joy, something purely mine.
But life, as it often does, had other plans. Slowly, without realizing it, my attention shifted to his younger brother, who often played with us in the neighborhood. We laughed together, shared small adventures, and somewhere between the games and playful arguments, my heart began to pull toward him. And surprisingly, he liked me too. Someone actually saw me, really saw me, in a way that mattered.
Then came the day that seemed to freeze time. He asked me nervously,"Will you come with me to the amusement park?"
My heart soared. I agreed, trembling with anticipation. I could imagine the wind in my hair, the laughter, the bright colors of the rides. But the day came, and he never showed up. My excitement crumbled into confusion, then pain. I later found out he had fought with his father that day, a conflict I could never have understood at the time. And then, just days later, the unimaginable happened—he had taken his own life.
My world shattered. Life itself seemed to stop. I withdrew from everyone, stopped speaking to my parents and classmates. Even simple joys—laughter, games, school projects—lost their meaning.
Tragedy struck again when Priya Miss, our kind and beautiful EVS teacher, ended her own life after failing an exam and being harshly scolded by her parents. Soon after, her younger sister followed the same path. Not because they were weak, but because society had left them no room to breathe, no chance to survive without fear. It was a cruel, harsh lesson that life often deals pain not for strength, but simply because the world is merciless.
Amid this darkness, one person slowly brought light into my life—Ethan, a classmate. He always sat beside me, talked to me when no one else would, and somehow began to heal the cracks in my broken heart. People around us assumed we were a couple, but we weren't—just friends. Yet slowly, my heart developed feelings. They say that when someone helps you heal your pain, your heart naturally starts to care for them, and I felt it happen quietly, painfully, beautifully.
Reality struck during a games period. Another classmate, Anaya, fell badly during a game, and Ethan rushed to help her without hesitation. The moment was like a knife to my chest. I realized he didn't like me—he liked her. That was my second heartbreak.
By the time I reached eighth grade, Ethan and Anaya had started dating. But later, the truth came out—they were both hiding secrets. Ethan had been cheating, dating another girl at the same time.
Sometimes, rejection isn't a curse. Sometimes, it's protection. And perhaps, the heartbreaks I endured, the loneliness, the pain, the silent cries in my small village and beyond, were quietly shaping me for the strength I would one day discover within myself.