I think I'll die someday.

Maybe sooner than anyone expects.

Life has been losing its colors, one day at a time. The reasons I once had for waking up every morning have slowly disappeared, so quietly that I didn't even notice them leaving. These days, it feels like I'm only pretending to live—smiling when I'm supposed to smile, laughing when everyone else laughs, answering "I'm fine" because it's easier than explaining why I'm not.

Every night, when sleep refuses to visit me, my mind begins to wander.

It walks through the past.

I remember classrooms that no longer exist.

Faces that slowly became strangers.

Conversations I wish had lasted a little longer.

Dreams that once felt close enough to touch.

When I think about my past, I see memories.

When I think about my present, I see survival.

But when I think about my future...

I see nothing.

Just an endless void.

Maybe that's why I'm writing this.

Not because I expect anyone to understand me.

Not because I want sympathy.

And certainly not because I think my life was extraordinary.

It wasn't.

I wasn't a hero.

I wasn't the smartest person in the room.

I wasn't someone destined to change the world.

I was just another middle-class boy trying to grow up while the world expected him to already know how.

Before the lockdown, life was simple.

I was the kind of student teachers trusted. Good marks came naturally, and my biggest worries were homework, exams, and whether I'd finish my lunch before recess ended.

Then the world stopped.

Schools closed.

Roads became empty.

Classrooms turned into phone screens.

And somewhere between online classes I barely attended, anime episodes I definitely wasn't supposed to be watching during science lectures, sleeping until noon, and telling myself "I'll do it tomorrow," I slowly became someone I no longer recognized.

The frightening part is...

I never noticed it happening.

No one wakes up one morning and realizes they've changed.

It happens quietly.

One unfinished assignment becomes a habit.

One missed lecture becomes ten.

One bad result becomes self-doubt.

One lonely night becomes a way of life.

By the time I finally looked back...

The boy who once believed he could do anything had already disappeared.

This isn't a story about betrayal.

It isn't a story about perfect love.

And it definitely isn't a story where every ending is happy.

It's about growing up.

About family—the people I loved the most, and somehow argued with the most.

About friendships that felt like they'd last forever.

About first love, heartbreak, and learning that not every goodbye comes with a warning.

About dreams that kept changing.

About losing pieces of yourself without realizing it.

And about finding a reason to keep walking, even when the road ahead looks empty.

Life rarely gives us people who are completely good or completely bad.

It simply gives us people.

People who stay.

People who leave.

And people who change us without ever realizing they did.

These pages aren't the happiest years of my life.

Nor are they the saddest.

They're simply the years that quietly turned me into the person sitting here today.

If you've decided to walk with me this far...

Then I guess I owe you an introduction.

My name is Sharva.

And this.....

......is The Diary of a Boy Who Kept Walking....