The Last Answer

A voice echoes in my ears every day. 

“What do you want?” 

Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts, sometimes in people’s words, and sometimes I just disappear within myself. That’s how city life feels. 

One night, I heard a voice from outside my room. 

“Heeeyyyyyy… it’s your happy birthday!” 

As soon as I stepped out, I saw a few friends standing there. It was 12:01. 

I smiled and said, “Yeah, thank you.” 

And the day passed, a little special, a little better than usual. 

One day, I was walking aimlessly when I saw a politician handing over some people to the police outside his house. Watching things like this and thinking about people, life kept moving. 

Some lives appear very simple from the outside, but inside they are deep. 

Days kept passing like this. 

One day, something fell near me. I thought about it a lot, wondering what it could be. My overthinking had increased. I started seeing depth in everything. 

It looked like trash thrown from the neighbor’s house, but for me, even that trash meant something. I got lost just looking at it. 

Then the voice came back. 

This time louder. 

It felt like whispers about me. 

“At home, it feels like he doesn’t even care anymore.” 

“EMIs keep coming, credit card bills are pending.” 

“And he doesn’t care. Always buying something new.” 

“What was the need to spend so much on that expensive book?” 

“He’s made life difficult for everyone.” 

Anyone would get angry hearing this. 

But I had become numb. 

You can call me selfish, but even that wouldn’t be enough. 

I was slowly sinking into the shadows of my own life. 

Sometimes we cannot find answers to what is happening inside us. 

Then a voice came from the room. 

“Morning has come and he still hasn’t opened the door.” 

When they went inside, a paper stuck to the door had already fallen. 

Shekhar was sitting on a chair with a pen in his hand. 

Suddenly, a loud slap. 

“This has become your daily routine. You don’t want to work, but every morning you sit with a pen and start writing. Don’t you have to go to work?” 

Someone grabbed him and shook him. His glasses fell and broke on the floor. 

Shekhar picked up his broken glasses and started walking outside. 

Another slap. 

This time, it was his sister. 

“You stole money from my room last night. And my gold bracelet too.” 

Shekhar got confused and tried to speak. 

“Didi, I didn’t steal your money… your bracelet and the money…” 

Before he could finish, someone said, “Check his pockets.” 

He kept speaking, but no one was listening anymore. 

His words had turned into silence. 

They checked his pockets. 

Some drugs were found. 

Another slap. 

Tears filled his eyes as he said softly, 

“This is not mine… it was my birthday…” 

Another slap. 

No one tried to understand. No one listened. 

The argument continued. 

That night, Shekhar slept without eating. 

The next morning, he sat again with his empty notebook and a pen in his hand. While writing, the ink ran out, and that was the last pen he had. 

As he stepped out of the room, a voice came again. 

“Oh, now you came out? Want to steal money again or ask for it? No one will give you even one rupee. You have ruined everything.” 

Shekhar went outside, bought a packet of pens, and came back home. 

The pages of his notebook were moving in the wind coming through the window. The wind was stronger now. 

The voices in his ears were very loud. 

He opened the pen, touched the tip with ink, and wrote, 

“Maybe now this voice will go silent, and everything will be okay.” 

The pen slipped from his hand. 

The chair fell down. 

Shekhar was on the ground. 

The fan was still spinning. 

And the voice had stopped. 

The sound of those slaps was gone from his ears. 

Then, for the first time, a voice came from him. 

Now I understand what I wanted.