Arif Rahman learned early that life did not ask what you wanted.
It only demanded what you could endure.
Every morning, the same alarm rang at 6:30 a.m. The same ceiling greeted him. The same tired reflection stared back from the mirror. Outside, the city rushed forward, but inside, Arif felt frozen—stuck in a loop of days that looked exactly like yesterday.
He had dreams once. Big ones. Loud ones.
Now they lived quietly in a corner of his heart, afraid of being noticed.
People called him average.
He smiled and accepted it.