The Slow Unraveling

Mid-semester results had just come out.

His CGPA was crawling. His resume looked like an empty spreadsheet.And the girl he thought was "the one" had found someone with a "better future."

At night, Arjun stared at the ceiling, watching shadows crawl across his room, his thoughts louder than the traffic outside."Why does it feel like I'm falling behind, even when I'm trying?"

Around him, others seemed to glide. Branded clothes, polished English, easy confidence. They walked like they already belonged in boardrooms.He had none of that—no shortcuts, no godfather in the industry. Just a scholarship and a dream… one he wasn't even sure he could afford anymore.

Year after year, the pattern repeated.

Every semester, the results would come out. His CGPA dipped a little lower.And every time, he'd whisper a promise to himself—"I'll make an academic comeback."

But the comeback never came.

Was it peer pressure? Laziness? Ego? He couldn't tell.All he knew was, somewhere along the way, he had started lying to himself—and gotten good at it.

In the early days, he had even started dressing differently.The boy who once had no clue what "brands" even meant was now trying to show off—wearing cheap knockoff shirts with flashy logos, styling his hair like the Instagram reels he scrolled endlessly through.In his mind, he had arrived.

But now, in his even semester of his third year, that final year stared at him like a ticking bomb.This was it. One sem away from placement season. The real test.

His friends had started preparing—some joining coding groups, others building fake startups for resumes, and a few even going offline to "focus."

Arjun looked at his close friend Raj and felt a strange comfort. He's still chilling. Just like me. Maybe we're okay?

But something felt off.

Raj had always been carefree, but this time, his carefree felt calculated. Like a man playing cards with something hidden up his sleeve.

"Maybe we'll figure it out together," Arjun thought. "We both know nothing… at least we can start somewhere."

But then came another thought—sharper, colder.What if we don't start? What if we just keep floating like this? Haven't we already lost enough time?"

That evening, the thoughts refused to quiet down.

He walked alone to the chai tapri outside campus. A dusty bench. A cracked cup of tea.He lit a cigarette—something he did only when his head felt too loud.

And slowly, the memories came crawling back.

The missed lectures. The fake sick leaves. The nights spent watching movies instead of tutorials.The time he had teased a friend for always doing projects, calling him "Robot Ramesh."That friend never joined the parties, never came to hostel night-outs. Arjun had laughed behind his back.But now?

"He was right. I was the joke."

The tea cooled, but his regrets boiled over.

Just then, a quiet voice broke the spiral.

"You look like someone who's seen a ghost. Or worse—your own reflection."

Arjun looked up, startled.

It was Professor Gupta—wrinkled kurta, chappals, and a coffee in hand. The same man who, a year ago, he used to mock in group chats.

There were many types of professors.

Some came in like ghosts with PowerPoint slides—reciting bullet points, clicking through the syllabus like it was a checklist. No emotion. No interest. Just clock-in, speak, leave.

Then there were the over-enthusiastic ones—those who thought their class was the center of the universe. Extra readings. Unchecked assignments. Extra classes students never attended.

They tried to explain concepts no one asked for—things students had already bookmarked to mug up the night before the exam. Why bother now?

Some were friendly. Too friendly. Trying to be "one of the gang." Throwing in English phrases, asking questions no one wanted to answer, giving speeches no one listened to.

Gupta sir was that last type.

He didn't follow the slides.

He asked too many questions.

He spoke like he wanted to make you think.

And worst of all… he believed in students more than they believed in themselves.

Arjun hated that.

He liked the first kind of professor—the one who didn't care. Because it gave him permission to not care too. The others? They made him uncomfortable. They tried to pull students out of their comfort zone… when all he wanted was to sink deeper into it.

Gupta sir was the worst of them all. The placement speech guy. The "life lesson" guy. the "this-is-not-in-the-syllabus" guy.

Arjun had hated his classes.

"Why does this man even come to class?" he used to wonder. "He doesn't even take attendance seriously. Keeps asking questions. Always targets me. Just teach the damn syllabus, sir."

He remembered once, in the middle of a lecture, Gupta sir had said:

"I have nothing to lose. I get my salary on time. But you—You have everything to lose. I'm doing this for you."

Back then, Arjun had rolled his eyes. Now, those words stung.

He wasn't targeting me, Arjun realized. He was correcting me.

I thought I still had a year and a half left... all the time in the world. I thought college was the golden period to enjoy. And now… now, the gold feels rusted.

Arjun quickly threw the cigarette away.

"Sorry, sir. I didn't see you…"

The professor gave a familiar smile. Calm. No judgement.

"Reflecting on life, are we? This tapri has heard more silent breakdowns than laughter, I tell you."

Arjun looked down, ashamed.

Gupta sir sat beside him, sipping his coffee, eyes scanning the evening sky.

"No shame in feeling lost, Arjun. The real question is—what do you do after you realize you've been walking in circles?"

Arjun stayed silent.

The professor paused for a second, then added—

"You know, I was just thinking of a story. One I haven't told anyone in years... Might help someone who's running out of road."

Arjun looked up, curious.

"What story, sir?"

Gupta sir smiled, eyes twinkling behind tired lenses.

"One about a man who thought time was infinite—until it wasn't."

[To be continued…]