he morning sun filtered through the curtains of Ansh's room, casting long shadows across his cluttered desk. Textbooks lay scattered, some open to half-finished homework, others bookmarked with countless sticky notes. His physics notebook, filled with equations he barely understood, sat mockingly atop the pile. But it was the report card in his hands that commanded his attention, the numbers seeming to burn into his retinas - 65% in Physics, 70% in Chemistry, and a barely passing grade in Mathematics.

Ansh leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his disheveled black hair. The wooden chair creaked beneath him, a sound as familiar as his own heartbeat after countless nights spent studying. His room, once decorated with childhood achievements and medals from primary school, now bore the battle scars of a struggling high school student - crumpled papers, failed test papers hastily shoved into drawers, and a calendar marked with examination dates that loomed like approaching storms.

The aroma of his mother's cooking wafted up from downstairs, a complex symphony of spices that usually lifted his spirits. Today, though, even the promise of his favorite aloo paratha couldn't ease the knot in his stomach. The parent-teacher meeting loomed ahead, and with it, the inevitable disappointment in his parents' eyes.

"Ansh, beta! Breakfast is ready!" his mother's voice called from below, pulling him from his thoughts.

He tucked the report card into his pocket and made his way downstairs. Their modest two-story house was filled with the usual morning bustle. His father sat at the dining table, surrounded by blueprints and technical drawings, his engineering mind already at work despite the early hour.

"Good morning, Dad," Ansh mumbled, sliding into his chair.

His father looked up from his blueprints, adjusting his glasses with an ink-stained hand. "Morning, beta. Ready for the meeting today?"

Before Ansh could respond, his mother emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate of steaming parathas. Her apron was dusted with flour, and the familiar sight of her herb-stained fingers brought a small smile to his face. As a professional chef and herbologist, she always had some new recipe or remedy in the works.

"Of course he's ready," she said, setting down the plate. "Our boy just needs to believe in himself more." She ruffled Ansh's hair affectionately, though he could see the concern in her eyes. His recent grades hadn't gone unnoticed

His father folded up one of his blueprints, revealing another beneath it. "Speaking of your mother's herbs, I finally finished that automated dispensing system I was working on. Want to see it?"

"Honey," his mother interrupted, "let the boy eat first. You can show off your engineering marvel later."

"It's not showing off," his father protested with a grin. "It's practical application of mechanical principles to enhance daily efficiency."

"Big words for a fancy spice rack," she teased, but her eyes sparkled with affection.

Ansh watched their interaction, amazed as always by how well they complemented each other. His father's methodical, systematic approach to life balanced perfectly with his mother's intuitive, creative nature. Where his father saw problems to solve, his mother saw opportunities to nurture. Together, they made everything work seamlessly.

The morning news played softly in the background, the anchor's voice mixing with the sounds of breakfast. His mother moved efficiently around the kitchen, preparing lunch boxes for her catering business while simultaneously ensuring their breakfast was perfect. Her reputation as one of the city's best caterers hadn't come easily - years of experimenting with recipes, understanding herbs, and building a clientele had gone into it.

"Mom," Ansh started, pushing his paratha around his plate, "about the PTM..."

"Eat properly, beta," she said, adding another paratha to his plate. "You'll need your strength for today."

His father set aside his blueprints completely, a rare occurrence that made Ansh's stomach clench. "Son, we know something's bothering you. Is it about your grades?"

The direct question hung in the air. Ansh could feel the weight of his report card in his pocket, seemingly heavier than before. "I... I tried my best, Dad. Really, I did."

His mother paused in her work, wiping her hands on her apron before sitting down beside him. "We know you did, beta. Nobody's questioning that."

"But my grades..." Ansh pulled out the crumpled report card, placing it on the table between his parents. "Everyone else seems to get it so easily. Harshika tops every subject, Aditya never studies but still scores well, and even Harshit-"

"Stop comparing yourself to others," his mother said firmly, placing her hand over his. "Everyone has their own path."

His father picked up the report card, studying it with the same attention he gave his engineering projects. "These aren't bad grades, Ansh. They're average, yes, but that's not the end of the world."

"But you and Mom... you're both so successful. Dad, your engineering firm is one of the best in the city, and Mom's catering business is always getting new clients. And I'm just... average."

The word tasted bitter in his mouth. Average. Mediocre. Ordinary. In a class full of exceptional students, being average felt like failure.

His father's expression softened. "You want to know something about success? It's not always about being the best at everything. Sometimes, it's about finding what you're good at and making it work for you."

"Your father's right," his mother added, getting up to check on something simmering on the stove. "When I started my catering business, everyone said I was crazy to combine traditional cooking with herbal medicine. But I knew it was something special, something uniquely mine."

"But that's just it," Ansh said, frustration creeping into his voice. "I don't know what I'm good at. Everything I try, someone else does better."

His father leaned back, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "You know, when I was your age, I was terrible at physics."

Ansh looked up in surprise. His father, the successful engineer who could solve complex mechanical problems in his sleep, bad at physics? "But... how?"

"The theoretical part just wouldn't stick," his father chuckled. "But I loved building things. Taking them apart, putting them back together. My teachers thought I was wasting my time tinkering with old radios and broken appliances instead of studying. But that hands-on experience? That's what made me understand the principles better than any textbook could."

His mother returned with a fresh cup of chai for each of them. "And remember when you helped your father design that cooling system for my herb storage last summer? You came up with solutions neither of us thought of."

Ansh remembered that project. While his father had focused on traditional cooling methods, Ansh had suggested incorporating natural ventilation patterns he'd observed in ant colonies. The resulting system had been both energy-efficient and effective.

"That's different," he protested weakly. "That was just... just an idea."

"Ideas are what change the world, beta," his father said, taking a sip of chai. "Your mother had an idea about combining culinary arts with herbal medicine. I had an idea about approaching engineering problems differently. Sometimes the best innovations come from people who think outside the traditional box."

The morning light had grown stronger, filtering through the kitchen windows and casting warm patterns on the dining table. Outside, the neighborhood was coming to life - children heading to school, adults rushing to work, the familiar rhythm of daily life.

"Still," Ansh sighed, "the teachers don't care about ideas. They care about test scores and rankings."

His mother sat down again, her expression serious. "Listen, beta. This parent-teacher meeting... it's not just about grades. It's about understanding where you are and where you want to go. Your teachers might surprise you - they often see things in students that the students don't see in themselves."

"Like Mr. Hari," his father added. "He's been teaching for what, twenty years now? He must have seen all kinds of students, all kinds of potential."

Ansh thought about his class teacher. Mr. Hari was different from the other teachers. He didn't just focus on textbook knowledge; he encouraged students to think critically, to question, to explore. But still...

"Mr. Hari has Harshika in his class," Ansh muttered. "She's perfect at everything."

His mother exchanged a knowing look with his father. "Ah, Harshika. The girl you keep talking about?"

Ansh felt his cheeks grow warm. "It's not... I mean... she's just really smart, that's all."

"Mhmm," his mother hummed, a slight smile playing on her lips. "And I'm sure her academic excellence is the only reason you notice her."