Doctors- People who are given the stature next to God. It happens so mostly because they are lifesavers who work tirelessly for mankind. Moreover, being a doctor is considered one of the most sought-after professions. People want their kids to becom...
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~*PROLOGUE*~
"Life goes on whether you choose to move on and take a chance in the unknown, or stay behind, locked in the past, thinking of what could've been"
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You stood there, a hollow shell amidst a sea of grieving souls, all draped in black as if the color could somehow capture the weight of the sorrow crushing your chest. The downpour of rain mirrored the storm within you, each icy droplet tracing paths through your hair, over your face, down your neck. They soaked your skin, but you barely noticed. The cold didn't bite, and the wetness didn't bother you. If anything, the rain was a relief, an accomplice in hiding the tears that flowed silently down your cheeks, blending with the rain, indistinguishable to anyone but you.
You could feel their eyes on you—those fleeting, pity-filled glances that cut through the air like knives. They thought you didn't care, that you were numb, but you weren't. You were far beyond numb. The weight of their pity suffocated you, yet you knew you would have looked at them the same way if the roles were reversed. Humanity thrives on pity, on the misguided attempts to empathize with another's grief, and while you despised that very trait in yourself and others, you didn't blame them. How could they know? How could they ever truly understand the depths of the despair lodged deep inside you, so deep it felt like it might never resurface?
Your eyes remained fixed on the casket as it descended, slowly swallowed by the earth, like a final cruel act of closure. It was your father in that wooden box, yet you stood there, your face blank, your body rigid, not even a flicker of emotion betraying the hurricane inside you. You knew exactly what they were thinking. "What kind of child doesn't cry at their father's funeral? What kind of heartless creature can stand so still, so cold, while their parent is buried six feet beneath the ground?"
But they didn't know. They didn't know the thousands of tears you'd already shed in the quiet dark of your room, when no one was there to witness your collapse. They didn't know how much the rain was sparing you, hiding your swollen, tear-streaked face, masking the rawness that had consumed you long before this moment. If they knew, they'd understand. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe no one ever truly understands.
