A Lost Dream
Everything had color.
I could hear the chaotic symphony of a sunny afternoon—the grass under my cleats, my friends screaming, “PASS! PASS THE BALL!” laughing, playing, completely unburdened by the world. We were happy. We were just kids having fun.
But then, the color began to bleed out. The laughter distorted, fading into a distant echo, and everything suddenly disappeared.
I blinked, waking up with my cheek pressed against my cold wooden study desk. The vibrant football field was gone, replaced by the harsh glow of my laptop and a mountain of papers. I let out a soft whisper into the empty room: “Wish I had one more opportunity to get back to my childhood.”
With a heavy sigh, I pulled my science book closer and started reading again. I was studying for a dream—or rather, a high-stakes expectation—to crack NEET. But deep down, science wasn’t my only escape. I loved writing. Just moments ago, I had been staring at the wall, thinking about creating my own comic book. The only problem? I never knew how to draw.
A second whisper escaped my lips, heavier than the first: “Wish she was here for me.”
I let my head drop back onto the desk and closed my eyes. Instantly, the memories of my childhood rushed back in full color. Back then, no one worried about the future. Everyone was innocent. I was just a kid who had a dream to become a professional sportsman.
Everything was perfect in Class 5. My friends were genuine, the days were easy, and I excelled at everything. I scored a 95.85% on my final exams, and my football skills were unmatched.
Until I stepped into Class 6.
That was the turning point where my whole life turned sideways. The school shuffled us, and all my true friends were separated from me. In their place came new people—mean, bitter kids who threw around harsh slangs and made every day feel like a battle.
Despite the darkness closing in, my dream to become a footballer survived. I would have done anything for it. I finally gathered the courage to talk to my parents, asking if I could join a proper football academy. They smiled and said, “Okay.”
So, I waited. And waited. And waited.
But that “okay” never became real. They completely ignored my dream, pushing it aside for academics. Heartbroken and losing motivation, my grades took a sharp dive down to 89%.
To make matters worse, I fell in love for the first time. She was a girl in my class who would constantly look over at me, smiling when she thought no one noticed. I spent four long months building up every ounce of courage in my body to finally open up and tell her how I felt.
Her reply didn’t come to my face. She told her friend to deliver the message to me.
Three words: “Go to hell.”
It was a crushing, devastating heartbreak. Class 6 truly felt like a living hell, a black-and-white existence where my dreams were dying and my heart was broken.
But then came Class 7.
I wasn’t looking for love anymore. I had given up. But then, she walked into my life, and the entire universe shifted. Slowly, the colors started bleeding back into my world. My grades began to climb, my ambition woke up from its slumber, and the gray fog lifted.
Staring at her, I whispered a question to the universe: Did God send an angel just for me?
