I live in a house where even silence screams. My parents want me to be a topper, but I don't have that spark inside me. I fight with myself every day, with my dreams, with my emotions. How many times have I secretly cried at night, but no one asked, 'Are you okay?' To them, marks are everything. For me, there isn't even a moment of freedom. Neither the choice of clothes is mine, nor my life. I am just a name in their dreams, but where is my own identity? Sometimes I feel like I am a puppet—whose strings are in their hands. I want to speak, I want to shout, but the fear is so deep that my voice dies inside. I don’t know why I am like this. Maybe I am not wrong, just different. Maybe I needed understanding more than marks. If only they look into my eyes, perhaps they would see my exhaustion, my pain, my dream. I don't just want to study; I want to live life.