The Choice That Wasn’t Mine Alone
The wind outside carried the scent of a slow evening—dry dust, the faint smell of sunburnt leaves, and the soft rhythm of a distant temple bell. Inside the small house, there was quietness—not peace, just silence. A silence that lingered like a question no one wanted to ask.
Krish sat on the edge of his cot, his fingers lazily flipping through the empty pages of his rough book. No diagrams, no equations. Just blank sheets. A reflection of his mind right now.
Intermediate was over.
The exams had come and gone like a storm that made no sound. After all the late-night revisions, sleepless weeks, heartbreaks, betterment struggles, and emotional landslides, the war was finally done. Or so he thought.
The last exam didn't feel like a finish line—it felt more like a waiting room. A place between what he was and what he might become.
Most of his classmates had already updated their WhatsApp statuses:
"EAMCET loading..."
"Future engineer in progress."
"B.Tech dream begins..."
But for Krish… there was no status. No hashtags. No updates.
Because he had something else in his mind.
He wanted to join Degree.
It wasn't a sudden idea. It had been growing inside him, slowly, like a silent calling. He wasn't interested in code, circuits, or machines. He wanted to serve people. He had always imagined himself as someone who could make a difference—not in air-conditioned cubicles, but in the raw chaos of society.
Civil services—that was his dream.
He imagined wearing a badge. Standing tall. Making changes.
He imagined walking into a district office, not as a visitor, but as a decision-maker.
That dream needed a degree. A calm life. Time to prepare. Focus.
He wanted to tell the world, "Let me walk this road. I know it's long, I know it's uncertain, but I want this."
But he hadn't said it out loud yet.
Because some voices are too soft, and some hearts are too heavy to speak.
That evening, he sat by the window of their living room, a glass of water untouched in his hand. Outside, the sky had turned to a pale orange—the kind of sky that doesn't give answers, only reminds you how big the world is.
His mother entered with slow steps. Her face was calm, but Krish could feel her thoughts weighing down the air.
She sat beside him, her hands gently folding the edge of her pallu. She didn't speak immediately. Krish knew—when she was quiet, it was never emptiness. It was her way of choosing the right words.
"B.Tech cheyyamma, beta..." she said softly, not like a command, but like a hope.
He didn't react. He just looked at her, his eyes searching for a reason. Maybe even an opening.
"Andaru B.Tech chustharu. Manchi future untadi. Companies lose jobs untayi. Software scope untadi. Degree lo ippudu emi ledu, ra..."
He swallowed slowly. His lips parted, but the words didn't come.
Because how do you tell the woman who raised you that your dream doesn't match her dream?
How do you look into those eyes—the ones that stayed awake when you fell sick, the ones that shimmered with pride when you stood first in 9th class, the ones that never cried when you broke but cried when you smiled?
Krish wanted to say:
"Amma, civil servant avvali anipistondi. Degree cheyyali anipistondi."
But all he said was
"Hmm…"
And that one hum was the start of a new sacrifice.
That night, after dinner, he went to the terrace.
The stars were scattered across the sky, like the thousands of decisions waiting to be made. Somewhere in that darkness, Krish felt both small and significant.
He stared at the sky and whispered to himself,
"Degree ante naku ishtam… Kani Amma cheppinappudu nenu ela cheppagalanu 'ledhu' ani…"
The dilemma wasn't about streams.
It was about faith.
His mother's faith in B.Tech.
Her belief that her son would walk into a better future with a technical degree in hand.
Maybe she had seen too many boys struggle after graduation.
Maybe she had heard too many people say,
"B.Tech ayithe campus lo ne job vastundi."
And maybe… she just didn't want her son to be one of those who tries too hard for too little.
Krish understood that.
He didn't agree with it.
But he understood.
The next morning, he walked into the tiny room at the back of the house—the room where his old books, intermediate materials, and entrance guides were kept.
He pulled open the drawer.
There it was—the EAMCET guide, slightly dusty, pages curled from age. It had been lying there untouched since 1st year. He never had interest in it back then.
But now?
Now it wasn't just a book.
It was a promise—one he never made but was about to fulfill.
Krish sat down, turned to the first page, and opened a new notebook.
His pen moved slowly, as if hesitant. As if it knew this wasn't the dream.
But it moved anyway.
That evening, he registered for the EAMCET exam.
There was no excitement in the air. No grand declaration.
Just a quiet buzz in his head and a sigh in his chest.
His father, hearing about the decision, simply nodded.
"Manchi decision ra… Engineering ayithe job kosam paina padakoodadhu. Campus lone vachesindi. Degree ante... motham mathrame prepare cheyyali. Risk."
Krish smiled faintly. Not at the advice, but at the word "risk."
Life itself had been a risk since the day he was born.
Every breath, every exam, every moment with Maira, every fall—he had survived more than most people could imagine.
This?
This was just another bend in the road.
Days passed.
Krish began preparing.
Not with ambition—but with obligation.
Some nights, his mind drifted back to degree colleges he once Googled. Courses he wanted to study. The vision of himself walking into a civil services classroom with a bag full of books and a fire in his heart.
But then, he'd open the EAMCET book again.
Because the world doesn't always bend for passion.
Sometimes… we bend ourselves for those who stood unbent for us.
One night, as he was revising formulas, his mother entered the room.
She stood quietly at the door.
Krish didn't notice at first. Then she called softly:
"Tired, huh, ra?"
He nodded.
She walked in and placed a steel tumbler of warm milk beside his book.
Then, she sat beside him.
For a moment, they both just listened to the fan spinning above them.
Then she spoke, softly, like a confession:
"Ippudu B.Tech cheyyamma ani cheppaa… kani… Nenu choosina vallu anni degree chesi struggle ayyina vallane. Anduke cheppanu.
Nuvvu chesedi edaina, nenu unnaanu."
Krish turned. Their eyes met.
And in that one look, they said everything they never said earlier.
He didn't say it, but a small voice inside him replied:
"Thanks, Amma…
Nuvvu nenu cheppaka kuda ardham chesavani."
The EAMCET preparation didn't feel as heavy after that.
It wasn't his dream.
But now, it didn't feel like a prison either.
Because he wasn't doing it against his will—
He was doing it with love.
And when you carry love in your reason…
Even wrong turns feel right.
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To be continued..