The story that never began

chapter 3

I hate this feeling, this sudden wave of sadness. I'm tired of being a loser. I'm not a good son, a good student, a good friend, or a good brother—I’ve failed at everything. I just feel bad that no one tries to understand me or why I am the way I am. No one has ever tried to see my scars. I'm always interested in healing others, but why is no one interested in hearing my story? Whenever I need someone, they ignore me or leave me. I'm tired of this, so I've stopped making new bonds and stopped telling people how I feel. I don't know why, but every time I try to do something good, I end up making a mess of it. I hate this sudden feeling of a mental breakdown, and if I try to share it with anyone, they think I have some serious mental issue. Now, I’ve just learned to keep it inside.

Knock knock.
Mom is knocking on the door. Oh, I have to stop my tears. I check in the mirror, forcing a smile while wiping my tears, then open the door.

Mom: "What are you doing in your room for two straight hours without making a sound?"
Me: "Nothing, Mom, just studying."
Mom: "Are you okay?"
Me: "I'm fine, Mom. Now, let me study."

Suddenly, my mind starts visualizing her face in front of me. I start laughing automatically, and now I’m beginning to think I have some serious issues. Just a minute ago, I was crying, and now I’m laughing after thinking of her. I remembered the day from class 8. I had a fight with my parents and went to school. I was sitting on the last bench during a free period with Zoya and three other friends, playing truth or dare. One of my friends asked Zoya who her favorite person among us was, and she said "Ansh." My mood instantly brightened, and I forgot all my problems.

Now, I suddenly remember that moment. Haha, how cute she is. I wish our bond could be the same as it was in class 8. I wish no one had come between us. I wish, I wish, I wish... Ugh, I’m craving a cigarette now. But I should stop smoking—she doesn’t like guys who smoke. So, I’ll try to control it. I used to be a good student in class 8, trying to impress her. I used to study hard—haha, immature me, how silly I was.

I also remember in class 8, we used to sit together during free periods and talk a lot. I used to tell her about my bad habits to look cool in front of her. I was trying to act like a bad boy, and I regret it now. We would talk about my parents, and she was genuinely interested in getting to know me. For the first time, I met someone who was willing to understand me, and I can't express in words how kind she is. Her kindness attracted me a lot, but then I would remind myself that she was kind to everyone. It was just a bond of friendship she shared with everyone—nothing special. And that’s how I used to spoil my own mood.The whole class knew about our friendship. We used to hate each other, and suddenly we were best friends. Everyone was shocked and doubted us. But who would tell them that I was ready to share my world with her? I was in love, and she was in friendship.

I started loving school just because of her. I had become a regular student just to see her. I wanted to start my day by seeing her. I was just a confused teenager who had started catching feelings for a classmate. Sometimes, I wanted to talk about the incident in 3rd grade—that I was just a kid who had proposed to her sister, and it was nothing more than a funny chapter from my childhood. But I always hesitated, wondering what she would have thought of me. I had once liked her sister, and now I wanted her to be my best friend? How did I end up messing everything up? Why was it always me? And so, I never had that conversation with her. Maybe someday, I would have talked to her about it.

Phone buzzed. It was late, and I knew I should sleep—I had school the next day.