The First Dream

And maybe—

that was enough.

For a moment—

it really was.

The memory of childhood stayed with me longer than I expected.

Four children.

One rooftop.

A promise made under the stars.

For a few seconds—

I forgot I was twenty.

Forgot the hostel room.

Forgot the silence.

Then my phone vibrated.

Reality returned.

I looked at the screen.

Instagram.

Not a message.

A reel.

Shared by him.

I stared at it blankly.

As if it meant nothing.

Maybe because it didn’t.

Or maybe because it wasn’t what I wanted.

I clicked it anyway.

Some random funny video.

Something he probably thought I’d laugh at.

A few months ago—

I would have.

I would have replied instantly.

Sent another reel back.

Started a pointless conversation that somehow lasted hours.

But now—

I just stared.

That was the strange thing about distance.

It doesn’t always begin with silence.

Sometimes—

it begins with smaller things.

Delayed replies.

Shorter conversations.

Missed calls.

A shared reel instead of a real message.

I looked at our chat again.

No “How are you?”

No “Are you okay?”

No “What happened?”

Just a reel.

And somehow—

that hurt more than silence.

Because now I had questions.

Did he know something was wrong—

and choose not to ask?

Or worse—

did he not notice at all?

I locked my phone.

Then unlocked it again.

Still nothing.

I placed it face down beside me.

Too dramatic?

Probably.

But pain has always made me dramatic.

Maybe that hadn’t changed since fourteen.

My eyes moved back to the diary.

Old pages.

Old handwriting.

Old feelings.

And somehow—

it felt safer than opening that chat again.

So I turned the page.

The next entry felt lighter.

Not happier—

just younger.

The heaviness of loneliness stepped aside,

and something unexpected took its place.

Ambition.

Or maybe—

hope.

I read the first line.

'I challenge God that I can do 5 subject work in 3 days.'

I laughed.

Finally.

There she was again.

Fourteen-year-old me.

Making dramatic deals with God.

As if heaven itself was waiting for my academic performance.

I kept reading.

'if I win God will help me to make me 10 topper but unfortunately I didn't win that mean God will not help me to top.'

I covered my face.

“That was your logic?”

Apparently—

yes.

At fourteen,

faith was simple.

Do something difficult.

Offer it to God.

Wait for blessings.

And honestly—

it made perfect sense back then.

I was never the topper.

Not even close.

Not the naturally brilliant child.

Not the effortless one.

Failure had introduced itself to me early.

And often.

Bad marks.

Missed expectations.

Average results.

Nothing dramatic.

Just enough to quietly teach me that I wasn’t “the best.”

But somewhere along the way—

I learned effort.

Not excellence.

Effort.

And that changed something.

Slowly—

I stopped being weak.

Not extraordinary.

Just... average.

And somehow—

that felt like progress.

But then came a dangerous thought.

What if average wasn’t enough?

What if—

for once—

I became exceptional?

That was how the dream began.

Not because I loved studying.

Not because I loved marks.

But because I wanted something bigger.

Approval.

Validation.

Proof.

I kept reading.

'my mother said to me if I top 10 class then she will buy a scooter for me.'

I smiled.

That sounded exactly like her.

Practical motivation.

Unexpected reward.

Then came my father’s promise.

'my dad said I can give you anything you like if you are topper of Tenth class.'

Anything.

That one word felt magical.

And of course—

my first choice wasn’t wise.

It was a smartphone.

Naturally.

I laughed softly.

But underneath that childish dream—

there was something much deeper.

I didn’t want the phone.

Not really.

I wanted what came with it.

The look on their faces.

That sentence every child secretly waits for—

“We are proud of you.”

Maybe I wanted the village to notice too.

Not with comparison.

Not with pity.

But with respect.

Maybe I wanted to prove something.

To them.

To myself.

To every voice that had ever made me feel small.

And suddenly—

I looked at my phone again.

Still no message.

Same feeling.

Different age.

It was strange.

At fourteen—

I wanted marks to feel worthy.

At twenty—

I was still waiting for someone else to choose me.

Still waiting to feel enough.

Maybe people don’t change as much as they think they do.

Maybe we just change what we chase.

I looked back at the diary.

Her confidence made me smile.

She really believed life could change with one result.

One exam.

One rank.

One report card.

It was innocent.

A little foolish.

And strangely beautiful.

Because adulthood teaches you—

life rarely changes in one moment.

But childhood lets you believe in miracles.

And maybe—

that belief is where courage begins.

I turned the page.

Curious now.

Wondering—

if she had worked hard enough.

Or if reality was about to humble us both.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***