chapter 2

Aarav arrived home by 8 PM. He unlocked the front door with his key and then locked it again behind him. His parents were out attending a function for the whole night—they had left at 5 PM and wouldn't be back until 11 AM the next morning.

Once inside, Aarav stopped the music playing in his earbuds and took them out. His half-yearly exams were just a week away, and he thought to himself, "Might as well study." He sat down at his study table, opened his physics book, and began writing formulas while attempting to solve numerical problems.

However, after just 20 minutes of struggling with the problems and failing to solve them, frustration took over. Defeated, he gave up for the day. A voice in his mind whispered cruelly, "Pathetic. You can't even do something as simple as this. What the hell can you do? You're fat, anxious about being fat, and want to kill yourself but are too afraid to do it. You want to lose weight but are too lazy. You want to speak up, but you're too busy overthinking. So, what exactly can you do?"

Aarav got up and stared at himself in the mirror. All he saw was an overweight 18-year-old with simple black hair, acne-covered skin, and fat clinging to his body. He traced a finger over his reflection, as if searching for something—anything—worth liking. But all he could see was failure. A disappointment. A burden.

He sighed and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His heart felt heavy, like an anchor pulling him deeper into an ocean of self-doubt. The fear of failing his exams, the guilt of wasting his parents' money, and the suffocating weight of expectations pressed down on him. He felt like he was trapped in a prison of his own making, a cell built from his own thoughts.

"Maybe if I just disappeared, nothing would change. Maybe it would be easier that way."

But even that thought felt like a lie. He didn't want to disappear. He just wanted the pain to stop.

Sleep refused to come. His mind was restless, tangled in a thousand thoughts, each one more exhausting than the last. He closed his eyes, whispering into the silence, "Thank you for all the memories."

And yet, despite everything, he was still here. Waiting for sleep. Waiting for morning. Waiting for something—anything—to change.