DespairPsychologically, despair is more than just sadness or hopelessness. It is a profound state of being characterized by a complete loss of hope, a gnawing conviction that a desired outcome is impossible and that no action can change the inevitable. It's a feeling of being trapped in a void, a silent, suffocating space where the past is a source of unfixable failure and the future is an empty, meaningless expanse. It is a condition of total paralysis, where the afflicted person exists in a state of suspended agony, cut off from the vibrant, moving world around them.
Niran's POV
The screen was a window into a world I no longer belonged to. My thumb, numb and automatic, scrolled past a hundred smiling faces, a thousand bright, impossible moments. Friends on vacation, their faces glowing under golden sunsets. Classmates were celebrating the first day of the new semester, arms draped around each other like they had all the time in the world. My little sister's perfect grade card, the comments section flooded with congratulations and heart emojis.
Each image was a pinprick, a reminder that the world outside my room was still moving, still breathing, while I had come to a complete, terrifying stop.
The air in my room was thick and unmoving, heavy enough to press down on my chest. My desk was buried under notes I couldn't bring myself to open, papers with my handwriting that now looked like they belonged to someone else, a version of me who still believed in effort. The only sound was the faint hum of my phone and the occasional groan of the ceiling fan, as if even it was tired of spinning.
Inside my head, though, was noise, relentless, echoing noise. All of it revolved around a single word.
Failed.
It wasn't just a word; it was a sentence, a brand burned into me. The crisp, black ink of my final exam results still haunted me, but worse than the "F" was the deep red circle around it, as if the teacher had wanted to make sure I never forgot. It wasn't a grade anymore. It was a verdict.
I could still feel the texture of the paper in my hands as I walked out of the classroom that day; dry, rough, heavier than a thousand textbooks. Outside, the world was a blur of bright uniforms and laughter I couldn't process. I remember the smell of rain in the air, the kind that promises a storm but never delivers.
The drive home with my father had been the longest twenty minutes of my life. Neither of us spoke. His hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, and his jaw was set like stone. I would have preferred if he yelled. Yelling meant there was still something to fix. Silence meant the dream was already dead.
It wasn't just the grade. It was the crushing weight of expectation. My parents had never demanded the impossible. They'd only ever asked for me to be happy and to do my best. But their quiet hopes had turned into a burden I couldn't carry.
My little sister, Namthip, was in Matthayom 3 and already excelling at everything: music, academics, and sports. She wasn't arrogant about it, which almost made it worse. She was the star of our family, and I was supposed to be the older, brighter star. Instead, I felt like a burnt-out asteroid drifting aimlessly, cold and lightless.
I used to be a straight-A student, the pride of my parents, the hope for a better future. Now, I was just a malfunctioning machine that couldn't perform its single purpose. The shame was suffocating. I couldn't meet my parents' eyes. I avoided my friends' messages. Even the mirror had become my enemy.
So I sat in the dark, scrolling. Searching for a place as broken as I was.
That's when I saw it.
It wasn't flashy. No hashtags. No influencer grinning with perfect teeth. Just a stark photo of a starless sky, the black so deep it almost felt wet, like ink.
The text read:
The Starlight SocietyTired of looking at the stars and seeing nothing but darkness?Feeling like you're drifting, a lone asteroid in a vast, cold expanse?We are a society for those who have seen the beautiful emptiness of the cosmos. We don't promise to give you light. We promise to look at the stars with you and acknowledge the silence.There are no rules, only understanding. No judgments, only acceptance.Join us. Maybe together, we can find a new star to look at.DM for details. We'll be waiting.
My thumb froze. My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
It didn't feel like a post. It felt like someone had leaned over my shoulder and whispered directly into my ear. It wasn't asking me to recover, to "think positive," or to "hang in there." It didn't try to sell me hope. It simply recognized the darkness and sat with it.
For the first time in months, I felt something besides despair, a flicker of recognition, fragile and terrifying.
"No judgments, only acceptance."
That line stuck in my head. A place where I wouldn't have to explain myself, where I could exist without defense or apology, that was exactly what I needed.
My fingers hovered above the screen. I knew this was dangerous. I knew it was stepping into something I might not be able to walk away from. But the alternative was staying in my silent, airless prison.
I thought of the emoji, a trembling star. Not a cry for help. Just a quiet acknowledgment. I sent it.
And then I waited.
The house was too quiet. My mother moved in the kitchen, her footsteps soft against the tile, the sound of chopping steady and deliberate. Somewhere down the hall, Namthip was probably studying, her neat handwriting filling page after page, always a month ahead of her teachers.
When my mother called us to dinner, I went reluctantly.
The table was set neatly, as always. My father sat stiffly, his focus entirely on his plate. He didn't ask about my day, and I didn't offer anything. The silence between us was heavier than the steam rising from the rice.
Namthip, bright-eyed and unaware of the cracks in the air, spoke cheerfully."P'Niran, did you hear about the new art competition? It's open to everyone! I think I'll enter."
"That's nice," I said quietly, pushing food around my plate. The curry tasted like nothing. My father's fork scraped against his bowl. My mother refilled the rice without a word.
I excused myself early, claiming to be tired.
Back in my room, I checked my phone.
One notification.
My pulse quickened.
It was from the account that posted the ad. No emojis. No introductions. Just a short message:
Time. Place. Look for the lost trophies.
I knew the location instantly. It is the abandoned corner of the old school gym, a place where forgotten awards gathered dust.
A strange smile tugged at my lips. A society for the broken, meeting in a graveyard of forgotten victories.
Perfect.
Lesson on DespairIn the end, this is the lesson of despair: it's not a condition that seeks to be cured, but one that seeks to be validated. It's a profound loneliness that doesn't want companionship in the light, but a fellow traveler in the dark. It is the desire not for a hand to pull you out of the void, but for a hand to hold as you look into it together. Niran, in his quiet moment of decision, had not chosen hope. He had simply chosen to share his hopelessness. And that, in its own grim way, was a kind of desperate, terrifying relief.