"You are too mediocre to understand me, perhaps."
Year: 2017
Dustan, A small town, four hours away from the buzzing city
Amy was a star student in her school—excellent grades, a strong physique, and a quiet confidence that set her apart. She was good at sports, music, and dance. Teachers praised her. Students admired her. They called her an all-rounder, a word that followed her like a badge.
From the outside, her life looked perfectly balanced.
The small town moved slowly, trapped in routines and expectations. Everyone knew everyone. Dreams were meant to be modest here—safe jobs, safe choices, safe lives.
"You think too much," people often told her.
"You're already doing well. What more do you want?"
She never answered.
At school, she sat in the front row, notebooks neat, answers precise. Yet her mind wandered far beyond the classroom walls—beyond the town, beyond the roads that led nowhere new.
Some classmates mistook her silence for arrogance.
Some teachers mistook her curiosity for defiance.
And when she challenged ideas—when she questioned rules that made no sense—she saw the looks change. Smiles tightened. Voices cooled.
That was when the thought first crossed her mind, sharp and unapologetic:
You are too mediocre to understand me, perhaps.
Everyone graduated from high school with honors, smiles plastered on their faces like masks. As expected, Amy stood at the top. They called her name at the party, waiting for her speech, waiting for gratitude—but she never came. Absence was her rebellion.
Alone in her dorm room, the lights off, the walls closing in, she lay on her bed and stared into the dark. The applause still echoed in her head, hollow and mocking.
"You morons," she thought, her jaw tight with bitterness. "You took everything from me. Piece by piece, you carved me empty."
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
"I lost myself because of you. And in that loss, something else was born. I am no longer weak. I am the one you cannot break. And I will make the world see what you created."