Part 3

As Aarohi grew older, people began asking a question she had heard hundreds of times before.

"What do you want to become in the future?"

The question followed her everywhere.

Teachers asked it.

Relatives asked it.

Neighbors asked it.

Even strangers sometimes asked it after learning what grade she was in.

When she was younger, she never thought much about it.

Now she did.

Every single time.

Because she knew the answer she wanted to give and the answer people expected to hear were not the same.

Her final years of school arrived faster than she expected.

The carefree days of childhood slowly disappeared.

Marks became important.

Entrance exams became important.

Everyone seemed to be planning their future.

Her classmates spoke about colleges and careers almost every day.

Some had clear goals.

Others simply followed whatever their parents wanted.

Aarohi listened quietly.

The way she always did.

Sometimes she wondered if everyone else was as confused as she was.

Or if she was the only one pretending to have everything figured out.

One evening, while studying at the dining table, she heard her parents talking in the next room.

They didn't know she could hear them.

"She needs to start thinking seriously about her future," her father said.

"I know," her mother replied.

"These years are important."

Aarohi lowered her eyes to her notebook.

She knew they were right.

That was the problem.

They weren't being unfair.

They weren't trying to hurt her.

They were simply worried about her future.

The same way most parents are.

But every time she heard conversations like that, a small knot formed inside her chest.

Because she knew that if she ever said she wanted to become a singer, nobody would take it seriously.

Not because they hated her dream.

Because they feared it.

A stable career sounded safer.

A predictable future sounded safer.

Dreams sounded risky.

And risk frightened people.

Especially the people who loved her.

Months passed.

School became more demanding.

Assignments piled up.

Exams approached.

Without realizing it, Aarohi spent less time singing.

Not because she wanted to.

Because there was always something more important to do first.

Study for this test.

Finish this project.

Prepare for that exam.

There was always another responsibility waiting.

Sometimes she would notice days had passed without singing at all.

Whenever that happened, she felt strangely empty.

As though she had forgotten something important.

One afternoon, she opened a notebook she hadn't touched in months.

Inside were pages filled with song lyrics she had written herself.

Some were unfinished.

Some were terrible.

Some didn't even make sense.

Yet she smiled while reading them.

They reminded her of a version of herself she felt she was slowly losing.

A version that dreamed without worrying about practicality.

A version that believed wanting something was enough reason to pursue it.

She closed the notebook and returned it to the shelf.

The next day she focused on her studies again.

Life continued.

The dream remained.

But it felt farther away than before.

Around that time, one of her classmates uploaded a singing video online.

The girl wasn't famous.

She wasn't even particularly popular at school.

Yet the video gained attention.

Teachers talked about it.

Students shared it.

People praised her confidence.

Aarohi watched the video several times.

The girl's voice was good.

But what stood out most wasn't the singing.

It was the courage.

The willingness to let people hear her.

The willingness to be judged.

Aarohi wasn't sure she possessed that kind of bravery.

That thought stayed with her for days.

For the first time, she wondered whether talent alone was enough.

Maybe dreams required courage too.

And courage was something she struggled with.

As graduation approached, the pressure only increased.

Career discussions became unavoidable.

Forms had to be filled out.

Choices had to be made.

Paths had to be selected.

One evening, while eating dinner, her father casually asked,

"Have you thought about what you want to do after school?"

Aarohi froze for a moment.

Only for a second.

Long enough for nobody else to notice.

She could have told the truth.

The opportunity was right there.

Simple.

Honest.

She could have said:

"I want to become a singer."

Instead, she looked down at her plate.

"I don't know yet."

Her father nodded.

"Think about it carefully."

And the conversation moved on.

Just like that.

Nobody argued.

Nobody raised their voice.

Nothing dramatic happened.

Yet later that night, while lying awake in bed, Aarohi kept replaying that moment in her mind.

She had been given a chance to speak.

And she hadn't taken it.

Maybe she was afraid.

Maybe she wasn't ready.

Maybe part of her already believed nobody would understand.

Outside, the world remained quiet.

Inside, however, a battle had already begun.

For the first time, her dream and her future no longer seemed to be walking in the same direction.

And deep down, Aarohi feared that sooner or later, she would be forced to choose between them. 🌙📖

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