A man’s voice reached him first. Warm, curious, almost gentle.
“What is your rank, son.”
Arjun looked up, his fingers tightening around the file he held. He felt small in that crowded hall, swallowed by families who looked more prepared for the day than he did.
“Four thousand,” Arjun replied quietly.
The man’s face brightened with pride that did not even belong to him.
“That is a strong rank. You must have worked hard. With that, you will get a very good college.”
Arjun felt something stir inside him. A trembling warmth he had not felt in months. Approval. Recognition. For a moment, he imagined what it might feel like if someone at home said those words.
A small, fragile spark rose in his chest.
Before he could hold onto it, another voice cut through the moment. His father’s voice.
“Four thousand. And you think that is something to be proud of.”
The spark died.
Arjun’s breath caught. His shoulders stiffened. His heartbeat thudded once, loudly, like a warning inside his chest. He did not look at his father. Looking meant inviting more disappointment. Staring ahead was safer.
“You wasted my money and my time,” his father said, voice rising. “This rank will get you nowhere. You will always fall short.”
Arjun did not move. Not even a blink. Stillness became his shield. He felt the words strike him, each one landing like a small weight on his chest, stacking slowly, pressing down.
When his father leaned closer, breath brushing the side of his face, Arjun flinched. Only a small movement, but enough to reveal the truth.
He was not afraid of failure.
He was afraid of disappointing someone he could never satisfy.
Behind them, his mother watched quietly, worry filling her eyes. She stepped closer only when his father turned away. Her hand touched Arjun’s arm, soft and hesitant.
It lasted only a second.
But it felt like a lifeline.
Her eyes met his. Gentle. Proud. Asking him not to break.
He swallowed, lowering his gaze. If he looked at her too long, he might cry. And crying was not allowed in front of his father.
The moment vanished, swallowed by the noise of the hall, closing in his dried eyes.
The memory shifted.
Those same eyes in a new setting.
The hall was crowded, bright, and filled with restless energy. Students filed into rows of chairs while the college management spoke from the stage about rules, attendance, and the importance of discipline. Arjun sat quietly near the middle, his file resting on his lap, his posture straight and controlled.
Others whispered and giggled around him. Some clicked photos of the hall. Some passed comments about the seniors who waited outside. Everything felt alive, buzzing with the excitement of a new beginning.
Arjun felt none of it.
He paid attention, but not with interest.
After an hour, the principal stepped forward and dismissed the freshers.
“Walk around the campus. Become familiar with your surroundings. Classes will begin shortly.”
Students rose with relief, the hall filling with movement and chatter. Groups formed instantly, some heading toward the canteen, others toward the library or the gardens.
Arjun walked out alone.
The sunlight felt sharp after the artificial brightness of the hall. Trees lined the pathways, their leaves rustling in a lazy breeze. The buildings stood tall, worn in places, elegant in others, carrying years of stories he could not see yet.
He walked slowly, observing the campus without really absorbing it. His fingers touched the edge of his file, gripping it slightly tighter whenever his thoughts drifted toward home.
He paused near a patch of open ground where seniors gathered in circles, laughing loudly, calling out instructions for the new students. His steps grew smaller, his breath steadier. A strange ache sat in his chest, something familiar but unwelcome.
Then his phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
Nanna.
His stomach tightened. His breath caught for half a second before he forced his thumb to swipe.
“I was walking around the campus,” Arjun said softly. “The management told us to look around.”
His father’s voice cut through his sentence.
“Walking around. That is what you think you came here for. Wasting time again. You are roaming around like a fool.”
Arjun tried to answer. “I was just…”
The line went dead.
He stood there for a long moment, phone still in his hand, the screen blank and silent. The breeze brushed past him, but he felt nothing. Only a heaviness that sat behind his ribs.
A boy near him answered his own phone.
“Dad, the campus is beautiful. I just finished the orientation. Yes, I ate. Yes, I will be careful. Do not worry.”
The boy laughed softly, a sound that felt warm and safe. The kind of warmth Arjun could feel only through someone else’s life.
Arjun looked away quickly.
Not out of envy.
But because something inside him tightened painfully.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, the movement slow, almost reluctant. His throat felt dry. His chest felt heavy. The world around him felt loud and bright, but none of its light reached him.
He walked deeper into the campus, shoulders slightly hunched, steps calm but heavy, as if he already knew he was entering a place that would remember more about him than he would ever allow himself to admit.
The crowd swallowed him slowly, and he moved quietly through it, carrying more weight than anyone around him could see.