Today, I’m going to tell you how I lost my childhood.

Not in a single day.

Not because of one mistake.

But slowly… in ways no one could see.

My name is Alex.

A simple name. A common one.

But in my class, it was never just “Alex.”

They called me “Alexa.”

At first, I thought it was just a joke.

Something friends do to laugh and pass time.

“Alexa, play music.”

“Alexa, do this.”

“Alexa, shut up.”

Everyone laughed.

I tried to laugh too.

I didn’t want to seem weak.

But jokes don’t stay jokes for long.

Soon, it wasn’t just my name.

It was me.

“Shorty.”

That became my new identity.

I wasn’t tall, and they made sure I remembered it every single day.

They would stand right next to me on purpose—

shoulder to shoulder—

just to compare heights.

“Bro, stand here,” one of them would say to another,

“you’ll look like a giant next to him.”

And then they’d laugh.

Sometimes, they did it in front of girls.

That hurt the most.

“Why are you even trying?” someone once said,

“She won’t even see you down there.”

More laughter.

I smiled.

I always smiled.

Because if I didn’t, it would only get worse.

But inside… something was breaking.

Piece by piece.

School stopped feeling like a place to learn.

It became a place where I learned how small I was—

not just in height,

but in their eyes.

And when the day ended, I didn’t feel relief.

Because home wasn’t much better.

Mistakes weren’t explained.

They were punished.

Marks weren’t discussed.

They were judged.

One day, I got my result.

60%.

I stared at the paper for a long time.

Not because I was surprised…

but because I was scared.

Scared of what would happen next.

Scared of not being enough again.

As I walked home, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The closer I got, the heavier my steps felt.

I reached the door and paused.

For a moment, I thought about running away.

But I didn’t.

I opened the door.

And there he was.

My father.

The moment he saw me, my heart dropped.

His eyes moved to the paper in my hand.

“Show me your result.”

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

My fingers trembled as I handed it to him.

He looked at it silently.

Seconds passed.

But it felt like forever.

Then his face changed.

“Call your brother.”

My body froze.

“Call him,” he said again, louder.

I obeyed.

My brother walked into the room, confused.

“Bring a stick,” my father said, his voice now filled with anger.

The words never came out.

I completely froze in place.

I could feel his eyes on me—heavy, sharp, filled with anger.

But I couldn’t look back.

My gaze dropped to the floor.

I stood there, staring at nothing, unable to move… unable to even breathe properly.

“Why didn’t you bring the stick, Daniel?”

His voice cut through the silence.

My brother hesitated.

“I… I was just—”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation.”

The room felt colder.

Every second stretched longer than it should.

I wished I could disappear.

Just vanish from that moment.

My hands tightened into fists, but they still trembled.

I kept my head down.

Eye contact felt impossible.

If I looked up, I knew I would break.

“I’m talking to you.”

His voice was louder now.

I flinched.

Not because of what had happened—

but because of what I knew was coming.

Daniel finally stepped forward, holding the stick in his hand.

For a moment, everything went quiet again.

Too quiet.

My heart was beating so fast it hurt.

I wanted to say something.

Anything.

That I tried.

That I studied.

That I didn’t mean to fail.

But my voice… stayed locked inside.

And in that silence, I understood something I had never fully accepted before—

No matter what I did,

no matter how hard I tried…

It was never going to be enough.

“Daniel, bring the stick.”

No response.

“I said, bring it.”

The room stayed still.

For a moment, I thought maybe—just maybe—this time would be different.

Daniel stood there, not moving.

His hand tightened around the stick… and then, suddenly—

He turned and threw it out of the window.

The sound of it hitting the ground echoed faintly.

Everything went silent.

My father’s face changed instantly.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Daniel didn’t answer.

He walked away, went into his room, and locked the door.

Click.

That small sound felt louder than anything else.

And then… it was just me.

Alone.

My father turned toward me slowly.

The anger in his eyes didn’t disappear.

It grew.

“You think this is a joke?”

I couldn’t speak.

“You are not enough.”

The words landed heavily.

“You don’t study. You don’t focus. What do you even do?”

Each sentence felt like a weight pressing down on me.

“You must be wasting your time outside… playing with friends.”

I wanted to say I didn’t have any.

But my voice stayed trapped inside.

Then his anger shifted.

Toward my mother.

“This is your fault,” he said sharply.

“You never made him serious.”

The room filled with raised voices.

I stood there… frozen.

Not moving. Not reacting.

Just listening.

Because that’s what I had learned to do.

Stay quiet.

Disappear.

After some time, the house went silent again.

Doors closed. Lights turned off.

He had gone to sleep.

But I didn’t.

I sat in my room, staring into the darkness.

Thinking.

Not about what happened—

but about what he said.

You are not enough.

The words didn’t feel new anymore.

They felt… true.

A little later, I heard soft footsteps.

My door opened slowly.

It was my mother.

Her eyes were red.

She had been crying.

She came closer and sat beside me.

For a moment, she didn’t say anything.

Then, in a trembling voice, she spoke—

“Promise me… you’ll study.”

I stayed silent.

“Please,” she said, her voice breaking,

“take an oath… become a better man.”

Her words weren’t loud.

But they hurt in a different way.

Not like anger.

Not like shouting.

But like something pulling at me from inside.

I looked at her.

For the first time that day.

And I saw something I didn’t expect—

Fear.

Not of me.

But for me.

I nodded slowly.

Because I didn’t know what else to do.

Because saying no… wasn’t an option.

Because maybe—

just maybe—

if I tried harder…....

things would change.

But deep inside, a quiet thought remained—

What if they don’t?

After a while, she left the room quietly.

The door closed behind her with a soft sound.

I sat there for a long time.

Thinking.

About her words.

About his words.

About everything.

Promise me… become a better man.

You are not enough.

Both voices stayed in my head.

I didn’t know which one hurt more.

I lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

My eyes burned, but I didn’t stop.

Tears kept falling silently.

No sound.

No movement.

Just quiet.

At some point, my thoughts started fading.

Not because I found answers—

but because I was too tired to keep thinking.

Too tired to feel.

Slowly, without even realizing it,

I fell asleep.

With tear marks still on my face.

And one small, fragile hope in my mind—

Maybe tomorrow…

will be better.

I woke up early that morning.

Earlier than usual.

Not because I wanted to—

but because I didn’t want to see him.

I packed my bag quietly.

Every sound felt louder in the silence.

Before leaving, I looked toward the kitchen.

My mother was there.

She looked tired.

Our eyes met for a moment.

“I’m going,” I said softly.

She nodded.

“Study well,” she replied.

I nodded back… and left before my father could wake up.

The walk to school felt longer than usual.

Maybe because I was thinking too much.

Maybe because I wasn’t thinking at all.

When I reached the classroom, a few students were already there.

Something felt off.

They were looking at the board… and smiling.

I followed their gaze.

And then I saw it.

A drawing.

A small figure, standing next to a tall one.

Above it, someone had written—

“Before and After.”

Laughter broke out the moment they noticed me looking.

“Look, it’s him.”

“Perfect match.”

I didn’t say anything.

I walked to the board.

Picked up the duster.

And started erasing it.

Slowly.

Quietly.

But the top part was still there.

I stretched my hand.

Tried to reach it.

Just a little more.

But I couldn’t.

The classroom went silent for a second.

Then—

laughter.

Louder this time.

“Bro, he can’t even reach it.”

“Someone get him a stool.”

“Or grow taller first.”

I stopped.

My hand slowly dropped.

For a moment, I just stood there.

Feeling every pair of eyes on me.

Every laugh.

Every word.

My face burned with embarrassment.

I picked up my bag… and walked out.

No one stopped me.

No one cared.

I went straight to the washroom.

Locked the door.

And stood there.

Alone.

For a few seconds, I held it in.

Tried to stay quiet.

Tried to stay strong.

But I couldn’t.

Tears started falling.

Fast.

Uncontrollable.

I covered my mouth so no one would hear.

But the sound still escaped.

Broken. Weak.

Just like me.

I slid down against the wall.

Sitting on the cold floor.

Crying in a place where no one could see me.

Because that’s where I belonged.

Hidden.

And in that moment, one thought kept repeating in my mind—

Why am I like this?

Did I do something wrong?

The question came suddenly.

Why…?

Why me?

Why, God?

I looked up at the ceiling, my vision blurred with tears.

There was no answer.

There never was.

After a while, I heard footsteps outside.

Then a voice—

“Alex… teacher is calling you.”

I quickly wiped my face.

Stood up.

My legs felt weak.

I went to the sink, splashed water on my face again and again.

As if that could wash everything away.

But it didn’t.

Nothing changed.

I took a deep breath… and walked back to class.

The moment I entered, everything felt different.

Silent.

Too silent.

Everyone was in their seats.

Looking normal.

Like nothing had happened.

I quietly went to my place and sat down.

The teacher continued teaching.

Her voice filled the room.

But I couldn’t focus.

Not after everything.

I kept my head down.

Hoping the day would just end.

Suddenly—

THUD.

A sharp hit landed on my back.

The sound echoed across the classroom.

I flinched.

Before I could even react—

“Ma’am, Alex did it!”

Voices rose instantly.

“It was him!”

“He hit the desk!”

I turned around quickly.

“I didn’t—”

But the words stopped.

No one was listening.

The teacher’s expression changed.

“Stand up.”

I stood.

My heart started racing again.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said softly.

But it sounded weak.

Unconvincing.

Like even I didn’t believe it.

“Enough,” she said.

“Get out of the class.”

Silence.

Then a few quiet laughs from behind.

I looked around.

No one spoke for me.

No one said the truth.

I nodded slowly.

Picked up nothing.

And walked out.

Again.

As I stepped outside, the laughter followed me.

Faint.

But clear enough.

And in that moment, I understood something—

Even when I say the truth…

It doesn’t matter.

Because no one believes me.