Rayyan woke up to silence.
No alarm.No footsteps in the hallway.Just stillness — heavy and unfamiliar.
His eyes felt hazy, like he was still trapped inside a dream.He rolled over, reached for his phone, and blinked at the screen.
8:30 AM.
His heart dropped.
Class… 8:00.
A sharp tremor ran through his hands as everything rushed back at once — his promise to do better, to stay focused, to not fall behind.
"How could I be so careless…" he whispered to himself.
He threw on his clothes, didn't bother combing his hair, didn't grab his notebook — he just ran.
By the time he reached the lecture hall, his breath burned, and sweat clung to his shirt. He knocked lightly and pushed the door open.
Dr. Zai turned from the board.
His expression hardened.
"Why are you late?" he asked, voice cutting through the room. "Class starts at eight. You are forty-five minutes late."
The words fell heavy. A few students looked up. Some stared. Others smirked quietly.
"This is what happens when children are pampered too much," Dr. Zai continued. "Parents protect them from everything. And then, when they're on their own, they can't even wake up on time."
Rayyan swallowed hard.
His throat tightened. His eyes stung. But he forced himself to bow his head.
He stepped forward, heading to the front row — the seat he chose yesterday when he promised himself a new start.
But Dr. Zai's voice snapped again.
"Oh? Now you want to act hardworking by sitting in front? "His voice grew louder. "Go. Sit at the back. The last row. That's where latecomers belong."
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
Rayyan didn't argue. He just moved — one slow step after another — to the last row.
The lecture continued, words floating past him without meaning.
But Rayyan was somewhere else. Back home. Back to quiet days and aching nights. To the dream he once held like something sacred.
I can't drift… I can't lose this.
He wanted his parents to be proud. He wanted Dr. Khir to be proud. He remembered the support from Ayden's father, the trust placed on him.
His chest tightened.
I can't break now.
When class ended, Rayyan slipped out without speaking. He didn't go to the café. He didn't meet Lisa.
He just walked.
His thoughts drowned out the world, and his steps drifted carelessly toward the middle of the road.
A loud HONK jolted him.
A car halted sharply. The window rolled down.
"Rayyan…?"It was Amir.
"What are you doing? Come, I'll drive."
Rayyan shook his head, voice barely there.
"No. This… this is punishment. Let me walk."
Amir tried again. Once. Twice.
But Rayyan only shook his head.
So Amir watched him — making sure the road was clear — until Rayyan disappeared past the campus gate.
When he reached his room, Rayyan didn't turn on the light.
He lay on the bed. Stomach empty. Heart heavier.
Hunger crawled through him, slow and dull. He didn't move.
He took a towel, wet it under the sink, and placed it on his stomach — anything to numb the ache.
Then he closed his eyes and let the quiet swallow him whole.
Night came.
The door opened softly.
Amir stepped inside.
One look was enough. The wet towel. The stillness. The untouched water bottle.
He didn't ask. Didn't lecture. Didn't pity.
He just left the room again and returned with warm food — rice, egg, chicken soup — simple comfort.
He placed it carefully on the table.
Then he took Rayyan's phone, set an alarm for 11:00 PM, and placed it beside the food.
Before leaving, he scribbled a small note:
Hunger doesn't heal. Please eat. – Amir
He switched off the light and quietly closed the door.
11:00 PM.
The alarm rang.
Rayyan woke slowly, eyes heavy. He reached for the phone — then saw the food. Saw the note. Saw the care wrapped in silence.
He took the paper in his hands.
Read it once. Then again.
His chest tightened — not from hurt this time, but from something warm and painful in a different way.
I'm not alone.
Even when the world felt sharp, even when he punished himself, even when he was drowning quietly —
There were people who cared.
Amir. Lisa .Ayden's father. His parents.
People who believed in him before he learned how to believe in himself.
A tear formed — but it didn't fall. He wiped it gently and sat up.
He ate.
Slowly. Silently. Gratefully.
With every bite, something returned —not strength, not pride, not certainty…
But resolve.
I have to work harder. I have to rise. I have a dream. And I am not chasing it alone.
Rayyan exhaled.
The night was still.
But inside him — something had begun again
He didn't know it yet, but tomorrow would change everything