Elias walked through the city streets with a hunched back, though his hands were empty. At thirty-five, he felt older than his grandfather. It was not physical fatigue, but the invisible weight he carried—a relentless accumulation of regrets, worries about the future, and the sting of unspoken words.He called it "The Backpack." Every time he made a mistake, he imagined tossing a heavy stone into it. When his boss criticized him, a stone. When he failed to call his sick mother, a stone. When he worried about money, another stone. The backpack was now so heavy it felt as though it was dragging him into the pavement.
