Hope... it's a strange thing . It keeps you alive, even when you don't want to .
Every choice you make starts as a small thought. Quiet. Almost nothing. But one thought is enough to change the whole direction of a life. Sometimes toward your dreams... sometimes far away from everything you once were.
Ice melts into water. Water freezes back into ice. It feels like a change, but it happens so slowly, so silently, that no one really notices.
Every empty glass reminds me of Karthik's struggle-like a piece of ice sinking slowly into the cold, dark water.
His story began like something soft.. like the cheeks of a baby, almost like a fairy tale. Almost like poetry of life .
But life doesn't care about how you begin . It only cares about how long you can keep moving…even when every step feels like punishment.
When the world around you starts to ache, when the air itself feels heavy ,when the hurt grows sharper than walking barefoot on nails…sharper than the slow, tearing pain of a nail being pulled from your skin.
Life watches . Silent . Unmoved.
And you.. you keep walking anyway ,because stopping feels even worse . Because somewhere inside you , a tiny piece of hope still refuses to die , even when everything else already has.
On his 18th birthday, Karthik stood at the edge of a new life. A young man now-stronger, quieter, shaped by years of holding things inside.
It was his last day in the place he had wanted to run from for so long that he had stopped counting the nights. But this day felt different. It felt like something might finally change.
The morning was calm. Kind. The kind of morning that almost feels like it's blessing you.
Birds chirped outside the thin slit of his window. The same window that once felt like a reminder of his cage… now felt like the only friend he had in all those years.
And his smile-small, soft-was priceless. A smile no amount of money could ever buy.
He bathed. The cold water that used to make him shiver suddenly felt warm. Warmer than any hot spring he had ever imagined.
He wore the one good piece of clothing he had kept hidden from the other children. If they had found it, it wouldn't have stayed good for long.
His smile—the one everyone envied—almost looked stolen. As if it belonged to the world, not to him.
Life had placed two roads in front of him . A question asked by fate… but the answer didn't exist.
On one side was the orphanage — the same cold walls, the same long shadows, the same endless work that had worn him down year after year. He could stay there… keep moving through the same days until he grew so old he could no longer lift his own hands. A life that asked nothing of him except silence.
And,
On the other side was a dream he once held like a fragile flame between his fingers…A tiny bakery in Goa ,a quiet shop by a quiet street , a place where he could breathe without fear , where life wouldn't feel like punishment.
But dreams are cruel sometimes. They glow just enough to hurt you…to remind you of everything you never had.
He decided to leave the trauma behind… or at least try to. Some wounds don't stay in the past, but he still walked away from them.
The orphanage gave him a small donation before he left. Not much — just enough for two days of food and a train ticket to Goa. A place he had only seen in old photos… a place he once dreamed of . A small bakery near the sea, quiet mornings, a life where nothing hurt.
He didn't have anything else to carry. Just a few of his favourite books — the ones that kept him alive on nights when he wished he wasn't.Some clothes that could survive a couple more washes.And an old button phone with a cracked screen…
A bottle of pills for his mental disorder.He also kept a strip of medicine in his pocket, just in case of emergencies.
These were his only possessions, the only things he could call his own…the only pieces of him he was taking into the journey ahead.
He stood there with his tiny bag, and for a moment it felt like the whole world was asking him a question he didn't know how to answer. Stay where the pain was familiar…or walk toward a dream that might break him again.
But he chose to walk. Even if the road ahead held nothing but more hurt. Even if life had never given him anything without taking twice as much back.
Sometimes, hope is so thin you can barely hold it. But he held it anyway. Because in his heart, even a broken dream was better than a life that never changed.
He wished everyone at the orphanage goodbye. His eyes burned, not because this was his last day there… but because every other kid had someone waiting for them. Mothers, brothers, uncles — arms open, smiles warm.
Karthik stood alone with his small bag, watching them hug and laugh as if the world had already chosen them for better things. His taxi hadn't even arrived yet. He just stood there… the only one without a hand to hold.
In that moment, he felt something heavy settle inside him — a quiet truth he had tried to ignore for years. He needed someone. Not out of weakness, but because he had carried everything alone for too long.
Someone who would make him laugh even on the days life tasted like ash. Someone who would stand by him when the whole world pointed fingers. Someone who would love him — not for his scars, not for his suffering — but for the boy he still was beneath all the pain.
He was on the edge of crying, but the taxi pulled up before the tears could escape. The ride felt shorter than his breath. When he reached the station, the chaos hit him like a storm. He had never seen so many people packed together… voices crashing into each other, footsteps shaking the floor.
He felt small. Smaller than he had ever been. A quiet boy in a world that didn't care he was scared.
Still, he forced himself to ask for help at the station counter. But what happened next cut deeper than anything he had lived through.
The station master lied to him—said the ticket prices had gone up, took double the amount, then ripped the money from Karthik's hand. He threw the ticket at his face… as if Karthik was there to beg for it. Even those who beg on the street aren't treated the way he was in that moment.
But fate wasn't done breaking him.
When he finally reached the platform, a huge rush of people came running from the opposite direction. He was pushed, dragged, swallowed by their movement, and by the time he fought his way out, his train had already arrived.
His bag—everything he owned—was gone. Lost somewhere in that sea of strangers.
The announcement echoed: "Gate closing in 30 seconds."
He didn't even think. He ran. He boarded the train with nothing but his old button phone and a single 200-rupee note in his pocket.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel human. He just felt… empty.
The journey was only a few hours… but for Karthik, it stretched into something that felt endless. He stood near the door, the hot June wind hitting his empty stomach like a punishment. He wasn't thinking anymore. He didn't have the strength to. It was as if his mind had folded into silence.
Vendors walked past him again and again—cold water… samosa… chips…their voices slicing through the air. People bought them without a thought. But for him, the smell of food was like a knife—sharp, slow, and cruel.
His throat burned. His stomach begged. His heart sank.
And in that suffocating heat, regret crawled up his spine. Those walls he had escaped…they never gave him joy, but they had at least protected him.
Now he felt like a lone boy thrown into a wild forest, unarmed, unwanted, unseen—surrounded by wolves he didn't know how to fight.
He held on to the cold metal bar near the door ,trying not to fall—not from the movement of the train ,but from the weight pressing inside him. The weight of a dream that already felt too heavy for his tired hands.
And for the first time since he left ,he wondered if the world outside was ever meant for someone like him.