This world where you and I live… the place that witnesses our birth and will one day hold our end… is all we truly have.
If life were a story, every morning would rise like the first page of a new chapter. Bright, fresh, full of hope… full of possibilities.
And every night would fall like the last line of a chapter. Quiet. Inevitable. Leaving behind the weight of everything that happened in between.
The people who surround you aren't always the ones who will be kind. Sometimes, their smiles hide sharp edges.
The ones you trust the most… can be the very ones who break your heart. And the people you think you hate… might still be the ones who make you laugh when you least expect it.
Your friends… they may change. Just like the seasons shift—from the burning warmth of summer to the cold, empty stillness of winter.
They might drift away. Lose interest. Fade… like leaves falling from trees in autumn, carried off by winds you can't control.
In those moments, every breath will sting. Every heartbeat will remind you of the absence.
The harsh words they speak… the careless insults, the betrayals, the silences… they will echo in your ears for countless nights.
And the person you loved the most… will become nothing more than a fleeting memory. Sweet, maybe. Or a nightmare that wakes you in the dark.
This is the story of a friend of mine. Or maybe… of a little brother. His name was Karthik.
Karthik was a shy, intelligent boy. His dreams were enormous, impossible even. But he carried them quietly in his heart, like fragile glass he was afraid to drop.
He was gentle. Soft. As tender as the bud of a winter flower… always nodding, always agreeing, always keeping his fears to himself.
Yet there was one fear that lived quietly inside him… a fear that never let him rest.
The fear of being left behind. Of being forgotten. Of being invisible while the world moved on without him.
He never got the chance to tell anyone about the strictness of his parents, or the taste of the food his mother made for him.
He never tasted it himself.
Because he was only three years old when he lost them.
Some people say it was a car crash. Others whisper it was suicide.
But Karthik knew… dwelling on it would only deepen the wound.
Knowing the reason would not fill the emptiness, nor mend the broken pieces of his childhood.
All he could do… was move forward, silently carrying memories that weren't even fully his. Memories that burned quietly, deep inside him.
And in the quiet moments… when the world seemed too loud, too fast, too cruel… he dreamed.
He dreamed of being seen. Of being understood. Of finding warmth and laughter in a world that had taught him how fragile life could be.
He grew into a teen… alone. Isolated. Trapped within the walls of an orphanage in Delhi.
At night, he would sit on the cold floor near the window, staring into the darkness. The city lights flickered far away, but they never seemed to reach him.
He wondered… would he ever leave this prison? Would he survive long enough to see a sunrise that wasn't behind bars or glass, but beneath the shade of a tree, where the world was real and free?
He imagined the winds combing through his hair, carrying scents of earth and rain. He imagined ants using his feet as tiny bridges, busy and unbothered, moving forward with their own small lives.
Would Karthik ever know that freedom? Could he ever feel the warmth of a world that didn't cage him, that didn't confine him to lonely nights and echoing silence?
And if that day came… how sweet, how precious, how good would it be?
Would he still have those nightmares… or would he one day sleep so deeply that nothing could wake him?
It wasn't just the world that had controlled him. It was his own mind. His own body. His own thoughts.
Karthik suffered from a mental disorder. A cruel, invisible enemy that struck without warning.
When it happened… he would fall to the ground. Shivering. Trembling. Every nerve screaming in pain.
But his body… it would betray him. Not a single muscle would obey. Not a single finger could move.
He wanted to scream. To cry out his fear and frustration. To release the storm raging inside.
But his voice… it hid itself. Buried deep in his throat, refusing to make a sound.
He was trapped. Alone. Locked inside a prison that no one could see.
"What could possibly be stressing you?" they would sneer. "You get food. You have a warm bed. You're just a spoiled child… the child of rich parents who didn't want to waste their property on you, so they left you behind."
Karthik never cried in front of them.
He endured it silently. He ate the rotten, moulded bread they gave him. He slept on beds that were crawling with lice and bedbugs.
He never complained.
Only once did he dare to speak up—when he was first shifted here.
He had just learned… the orphanage had been arranged by his father's younger brother
He did it for the property his parents had left behind.
The man who betrayed him—his father's younger brother—smiled. A smile brighter than any diamond in the world. So trustworthy, so convincing, that even a political leader might have believed him.
But it was a devil in human form.
When Karthik first dared to complain to the authorities, it was over something small… a few items he had bought for his home.
But the other children of the orphanage used them without permission, acting as if they were the rightful owners.
When he spoke up, the higher-ups shut him down. "Sharing is the key to a happy life," they said. "Sharing is good. Sharing should be encouraged."
But the rules were never applied to him.
When Karthik asked to borrow from the other children, they rejected him. Coldly. Harshly.
"We don't share our things with stupid people," they would say.
And so, he learned early… the world wasn't fair. People weren't kind. And even those who smiled at you… might be the very ones who hurt you the most.