I knew their words came without any selfish motive. They simply wanted to see their son succeed.
I understood, deep down, how much they cared — how much they worried about my future, about what would happen to me in a world that showed no mercy to those who fell behind. They had fought hard for me all these years, and now, it was their turn to face judgmental stares, prying questions, and whispers behind their backs.
"What is your son doing these days?"
"Didn't he finish school yet?"
"Maybe he wasn't smart enough after all."
I could imagine the conversations. The fake smiles they had to wear. The weight they carried — not from shame, but from exhaustion.
Because of me, they lowered their heads. Avoided old friends. Skipped gatherings where they once stood proud.
Not because they were ashamed of me — but because they couldn't bear to see pity in other people's eyes.
That guilt gnawed at me. A silent, unseen burden that grew heavier with each passing day.
Sometimes, I wondered if they regretted putting so much hope in me .If they ever wished for a different life. An easier son.
Someone they could proudly boast about. Someone better than Edward — the boy who kept stumbling no matter how hard he tried.
But even when doubt crept in, I knew the truth. No matter how heavy their disappointment, their love never wavered.
They stayed. They believed. Even when I couldn't believe in myself.
Yet somehow… that made it worse .Because if even their unwavering faith couldn't save me, what hope did I have left?
{A.N: That is, he couldn't acquire marks at a constant range.}
Just shy of a month before the entrance exam, I gave my all to mathematics — the subject where each question carried two marks, unlike physics and chemistry, where each question was worth only one.
There were fifty questions in each subject. In mock tests, my scores were completely dominated by math. It carried all the weight.
So I came up with a plan: Since there was no negative marking, I began randomizing my answers for physics and chemistry. I put all my focus into solving only the math section seriously.
And for a while… it worked. My mock scores shot up. Confidence returned. I felt like I had finally cracked the formula.
I was sure I could solve at least 40 to 45 math questions — even if the shift was moderately difficult. Only then did I shift my focus to physics and chemistry.
But there was one flaw in this strategy — and I had completely overlooked it.
And it would cost me dearly.
The moment the math section began in the actual entrance exam… I was stunned.
The questions were the most difficult and lengthiest of any shift that had happened so far. My entire strategy, everything I'd trained for — gone in an instant.
Still, I tried to stay calm. I attempted the easier-looking problems first. But even those were time-consuming. My mind was a jumbled mess.
Numbers danced meaninglessly. Panic whispered at the edges of my thoughts.
By the time I was done… I wasn't even sure how many questions I had solved .Or which answers were correct. Or if anything I'd done even made sense.
I just sat there, staring at the PC screen.
Empty. Blank. Drained.
I couldn't remember how many were guesses, how many were genuine answers, how many I'd left untouched.
And then… I simply clicked "Submit" . I stood up Walked out of the exam hall.
And for a long time after that, I didn't know what I was feeling. Only that something inside me had quietly broken.
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{A.N:- The words of Wisdom from this Kind Author;
"The longer you stay on the wrong train, the more expensive it becomes to get back home — not just in money, but in time, energy, and pieces of yourself. At first, you tell yourself it's fine, that maybe this route will eventually lead somewhere good. But with every station that passes, you drift further from where you were meant to be. And by the time you realize it, turning back feels overwhelming. But here's the truth — it's never too late to get off. The cost of staying lost will always be greater than the courage it takes to change direction."}