Shrikrishna—Shree, as his family and friends liked to call him—stared at the screen of his laptop. Manga panels sprawled across the display, colors vivid and chaotic. He had read them countless times, yet today they felt different: the worlds within them were simple, predictable, and yet impossibly distant from the life he actually lived.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Outside, the sun dipped low behind the buildings, casting a golden-pink haze across the streets. A stray breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the faint scent of dust and blossoms. Shree had always noticed these small details, though he rarely allowed himself to linger. Today, he did.
Why do people cheat? The thought had returned again, uninvited. The recent medical entrance exams had been marred by whispers of dishonesty, of students willing to risk everything for a single advantage. Shree's own success felt hollow when he considered it. A life could hinge on a miscalculated dose, a wrong incision, a moment of unearned advantage. Cheating wasn't just unfair—it could cost lives.
He clenched his fists, the colors of the manga now blurring into his thoughts. His parents had always been careful, guiding him, providing stability, warmth, and opportunity. He had grown accustomed to comfort, and yet he realized comfort could blind a person. There were children who woke before dawn to chase survival instead of dreams. Children who felt every pang of hunger and knew the weight of helplessness.
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. Vrushali, his sister, charged into the room, her hair damp with sweat from an evening workout.
"Shree! Again with that manga? Haven't you studied enough today?" Her voice carried concern, tinged with frustration. "You're wasting time while others… you know."
Shree rolled his eyes but did not speak. He could feel her worry, not just for exams, but for the shape of his life—how easily he could slide into complacency.
"I know," he finally muttered. "I just… needed a break."
Vrushali's eyes softened slightly. "Breaks are fine, but understand this: one day, life won't give you permission. You'll have to face it, and when it comes, hesitation will cost you everything."
Her words struck him, sharper than any critique or scolding. Shree's chest tightened as he realized how small and untested his own world had been.
A sudden buzz of the phone drew his attention. It was Raghav, full of energy and excitement: "Shree! Trek this weekend. Mountains. Fresh air. Adventure. You in?"
The idea should have sounded frivolous—after all, exams were near, and life demanded caution. Yet Shree found himself drawn to it. Maybe it's time to step beyond the boundaries I've grown comfortable in, he thought.
He asked his parents cautiously. "Can I go?"
There was hesitation, naturally. His mother's worry was tangible, his father's pragmatism steady, grounded in care. After discussion, they agreed—not as indulgence, but as a test: of judgment, of awareness, of responsibility.
As he packed, Shree felt a ripple of something unfamiliar: anticipation mixed with unease. He did not know that the trek would not just be a step into the mountains. It would be a step into a world far larger than he could imagine—a world where every choice, every movement, every breath mattered. A world where he would discover that strength was never merely about skill or knowledge—it was about awareness, endurance, and the courage to confront the unknown.
And as the sun dipped behind the horizon, Shree felt, for the first time, that the stories he loved—colorful, orderly, and safe—were nothing compared to the unfolding reality that awaited him.
--- < THE END > ---