A paper slammed onto the wooden table, echoing through the dimly lit room. The orange hues of the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Zaydan flinched, his fists clenched tightly, as his father towered over him, his eyes burning with disappointment.
"Is this what you call effort?" his father spat, shoving the crumpled exam sheet toward him. "Barely passing? You think this is acceptable?"
Zaydan swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I—I did my best, Father… I studied all night."
"Your best?" His father let out a bitter laugh. "Your best is FAILURE! Do you think the world rewards mediocrity? Do you think I worked my whole life to raise a son who scrapes by with the bare minimum?"
Before Zaydan could answer, the door creaked open. His younger brother, Adnan, a fourteen-year-old with a sharp smirk, stepped into the room. He took one glance at the scene and grinned.
"Ohh, big brother is getting scolded again?" Adnan teased, leaning against the doorframe. "Maybe you should study instead of dreaming about useless things."
Zaydan's anger flared. His hands trembled, his vision blurring with rage. "Shut up!" he snapped, his voice raw with frustration. "You're nothing but a spoiled brat! What have you ever done except hide behind Father?"
The room fell silent. Then, a sharp slap rang through the air.
Zaydan staggered, pain exploding across his cheek. His father's glare was colder than steel.
"How dare you speak to your brother like that?" his father growled. "Unlike you, he has potential. He is disciplined. Obedient."
Zaydan's breath hitched. The words cut deeper than the slap. He stared at his father, searching for even a flicker of warmth in his eyes, but there was none.
His father's grip tightened on his collar. "Get out," he said, his voice dripping with finality. "I have no use for a disgrace who can't even surpass a child."
Zaydan barely had time to react before he was shoved toward the door. Just as he stepped out, an auto-rickshaw pulled up, its engine sputtering before coming to a halt.
His twelve-year-old sister, Sana, hopped down, her school bag slung over her shoulder. She took one look at Zaydan, his red cheek and burning eyes, and immediately sensed something was wrong.
"Zaydan?" she called, taking a hesitant step forward.
He didn't answer. He didn't stop.
"Where are you going?" she asked again, worry creeping into her voice.
Still, he kept walking.
Sana moved to follow him, but he quickened his pace. He didn't have the energy to talk. He didn't want anyone's pity.
After walking aimlessly for what felt like hours, he found himself in a deserted park. He sank onto a worn-out bench, tilting his head back to stare at the darkening sky. His mind drifted, memories clawing their way to the surface.
It all changed that day… the day of the accident.
He could still hear Adnan's small voice calling out from the top of the stairs. He was only two, maybe three, wobbling on tiny legs. Then came the fall—a terrifying crash, the gasps of his parents, and the eerie silence that followed. Adnan had lost his ability to speak properly after that. He could only manage a few words, his once-clear voice reduced to broken fragments.
From that day on, Zaydan had been an afterthought. His parents spent all their time with Adnan, showering him with care and attention. And Zaydan? He was left behind. Sometimes, they wouldn't even be home, traveling to nearby cities, leaving him alone with nothing but the cold glow of electronic screens and the fantasy worlds of stories.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
"My life is trapped between reality and fiction," he muttered.
He had no place in this world. No reason to exist.
The decision settled in his mind like a final piece of a puzzle. It wasn't made in anger. It wasn't made in haste. It was simply… logical.
He stood up, hailing a passing taxi.
"Take me to the dam," he said.
The driver, an older man with tired eyes, glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Strange place to visit at this hour," he mused. "You looking for answers, kid?"
Zaydan sighed, staring out of the window. "Something like that."
The driver chuckled. "Life's full of mysteries, you know. Sometimes, we chase answers we don't need. And sometimes, answers find us when we least expect them."
Zaydan didn't respond. He just watched the city lights blur into the darkness.
When they arrived, he stepped out and walked toward the edge of the dam. The air was still, the water calm, but soon, the floodgates would open, and the current would become strong.
He waited.
And then… laughter. Excited murmurs. A small crowd had gathered nearby, their attention fixed on something—or someone.
Curious, Zaydan turned and walked over.
An old man lay sprawled on the ground, covered in buffalo dung. His body reeked of alcohol, his limbs too weak to lift himself. People watched with amusement, some whispering, others chuckling, but no one moved to help.
Zaydan frowned.
He sighed and stepped forward.
The stench made his eyes water, but he ignored it. Carefully, he helped the old man sit up and guided him to a nearby chair. He found a bottle of water and splashed it on the man's face, wiping away the filth.
The old man stirred, blinking groggily. His eyes met Zaydan's, and for a moment, something flickered in their depths—something unreadable.
"You're a good lad," the old man slurred, a slow smile spreading across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn-out ring.
"For your kindness," he said, pressing the ring into Zaydan's palm.
Zaydan looked at it, puzzled. "What's this?"
The old man chuckled, his voice dropping into a whisper.
"A secret locked, a wish untold, Only revealed when warmth takes hold. Not by key, nor force, nor sight, But by touch in the dead of night."
Before Zaydan could ask, the man leaned back, eyes drifting shut as if he had already said too much.
Zaydan glanced at the ring again, his fingers tightening around it. A riddle. A mystery.
And for the first time in a long while… a spark of curiosity flickered inside him.