2:00 AM. A small desk lamp flickers in the corner of a dark room. While the rest of the world is lost in sleep, sixteen-year-old Arian stands before a mirror. He's in a simple vest and shorts, his hair a mess, staring blankly at his own reflection. There's no rush in his eyes, no hidden panic—just a slow, heavy stream of thoughts.
He feels out of place in this cramped room. It's hard to put into words, but deep down, he's convinced he wasn't born for an ordinary life. "Maybe the universe has a bigger plan for me," he whispers to himself. That thought is his sanctuary. It makes him feel special without he having to lift a finger.
He moves to his desk and picks up a notebook. A motivational video he saw earlier is still playing in his head. "Write your dreams down," the speaker had urged. "One day, you'll see how far you've come." Arian opens the first page. It's strikingly white. He hesitates for a second, then slowly writes:
"I will become someone great one day. Then, I'll read this again."
That's it. No plan, no steps, no details. Just that one sentence. To him, it feels like enough; he believes the future will simply figure itself out. He closes the book and looks back at the mirror, trying to see a glimpse of the man he hopes to become.
The next morning, school is a chaos of noise and laughter. But Arian stays in his own bubble. He sits at the back, rarely speaking. He has convinced himself that friendships are just distractions. In his world, greatness belongs to those who walk alone. So, he keeps his distance, proud of his isolation.
When the exam results come out, the room buzzes with energy. Students are comparing marks, cheering or complaining. Arian looks at his paper—50. Average. Nothing more, nothing less.
For a moment, a sting of disappointment hits him, but he's quick to bury it. "It doesn't matter," he mutters. "Bill Gates dropped out. Elon Musk wasn't a straight-A student. Steve Jobs, Zuckerberg... they didn't need school marks." These names act like a shield, protecting him from the reality of his own lack of effort. He's sure that one day, he'll still make it big.
At home, life is a bit of a struggle. His father works long hours on the farm, bringing home about two hundred dollars a month. It's not poverty, but it's far from comfortable. Arian hates this "middle-ground." He often visualizes himself as the richest person in the family, owning a massive house and luxury cars. The mental image is vivid, almost real.
But it stays locked in his head. In reality, he hasn't started anything.
His phone is his true escape. He spends hours on YouTube, jumping from one motivational video to another. "Dream big." "Work harder than them." Each clip gives him a quick rush of adrenaline. It feels like progress, even though he's just sitting on his bed. His gallery is drowning in saved videos—treasures he tells himself he'll "watch again later."
But while the videos end, his life remains frozen.
One night, under that same dim lamp, Arian opens his notebook again. That single line is still there, lonely on the page: "I will become someone great one day…" The rest of the pages are still empty, waiting for a story that hasn't started. He picks up his pen, holds it for a long time... and then sets it down. The dreams are clear in his mind, but they never quite make it to the paper.
He has an older sister, Emma. She's twenty, full of life, and incredibly close to their father. On March 25th, the family went on a trip to Jhalong. Their mother had been quietly saving from her small allowance for months—about 210 dollars—just for this day. They took a rented car, the engine humming against the quiet road.
Jhalong was breathtaking. The air was crisp, and the houses looked like something from a postcard. It felt like a small slice of heaven. For a moment, Arian realized just how massive the world was and how little of it he had actually seen.
While Emma and their parents were laughing and soaking in the moment, Arian stayed in his shell. "What's the point of all this noise?" he thought. "Does being happy like this actually lead to success?"
During lunch, as they sat down for some egg khichdi, aloo paratha, and chicken stew, a sleek white BMW pulled up. A man stepped out, looking sharp in a white shirt, white trousers, and black shades.
Arian stopped eating. He couldn't take his eyes off the man.
"Arian? What's wrong? Eat up, we have to head back soon," his mother said, snapping him out of his trance. He lowered his head and started eating again, but his mind was elsewhere.
Even back in the car, Arian looked restless, his face clouded with irritation. His father noticed and leaned in.
"What happened, son? Why the long face?"
Arian's frustration finally boiled over. He replied, his voice sharper and louder than usual, "Dad, why didn't you do more when you were younger? You could've earned so much more. If you had, maybe we'd be traveling in a BMW like that man today, instead of this."
A heavy silence fell over the car. His father didn't say a word.
His mother, looking hurt, spoke up firmly, "Arian! How can you say that? That is no way to speak to your father."
The atmosphere became suffocating.
His mother, Emma, and even the driver were all staring at him in disbelief. Sensing the tension, Emma quickly tried to bridge the gap.
"Don't be angry, Mom," she said softly. "Arian is just tired and a bit overwhelmed, he didn't mean it that way." She gently placed her hand on Arian's shoulder, trying to ground him. Arian didn't push her away, but he didn't look up either. He just sat there in a stony silence.
The car moved forward through the night, but the warmth of the family was gone.
By the time they reached home, it was 11:30 PM. Exhausted, everyone headed straight to bed. But sleep wouldn't come to Arian. He lay there in the dark, his mind racing with thoughts of his future and the life he felt he was trapped in.
"How much longer do I have to live like this?" he whispered to the empty room. "Nothing feels right anymore…"