In the lift, a young man leaned against the wall, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited for it to reach the 16th floor.
With a ding, the doors slid open. He stepped out unhurriedly and walked a couple of steps until he reached room 201. After entering the passcode and unlocking the door, he stepped inside and announced,"I'm back, Mom."
As he spoke, he slipped off his shoes and unshouldered the school bag he had carried all day, though it wasn't heavy. Holding it in one hand, he slowly walked toward his room while answering his warm yet mostly domineering mother.
From inside, likely the kitchen, he thought her warm voice came, questioning him, "Oh, welcome, son. You're back. Quite early today."
"Today was the test, remember? You forgot already?" he said as he continued walking, entering his room and placing his bag down before coming back out to the hall and sitting there.
"Ah, right, right. How was it?" his mother asked again as she walked out of the kitchen.
Anthony looked up as his mother entered the hall. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, graceful and gentle in demeanor, with the soft presence of someone who carried both beauty and kindness. This was Amelia—his mother. She walked out of the kitchen as she spoke, her eyes landing on him.
"It wasn't bad. Actually… it was kind of good," Anthony replied with a thoughtful look.
Amelia raised her eyebrow at that, though only for a moment before returning to her usual calm. She placed a hand gently on his head and ruffled his hair, then said in a tone that was neither fully serious nor calm,
"Anthony, when will you start taking your tests seriously? Every time I ask, you give me the same answer, but the results always tell another story. You know your college entrance exams are happening in just two months, and if you continue like this, how will you get into a good tier-one university?" She sighed.
Anthony was quick to defend himself. "Not this time, Mom. Haven't you seen how hard I've been working lately? I've been giving more time to my studies, not playing games or wasting time on other stuff. And really, I'm confident this time around. The results will be better than before, and not by a small margin, Mother. I've really made some improvements."
"That's what you always say, young man. It's always the same story. This time won't be any different. The results will turn out the same, if not worse."
The voice came from behind, and out stepped a man in his thirties, bearing a strong resemblance to Anthony. It was his one and only father, Marcus—a father who was a cool dude and a best friend, and at the same time someone who was direct with his words.
He walked into the hall, sat down opposite Anthony, and gave him a stare that clearly said, Anthony, boy, I have you figured out. That look alone was enough to make Anthony feel a little bad.
He knew his father well—Marcus was strict, especially when it came to academics.
"When will you take your studies seriously, son?" Marcus said, his voice laced with frustration. Not frustration toward his son, because as a father, no matter what, he couldn't truly be frustrated with him—but sometimes, one couldn't help oneself, could they? "Look at your Uncle Gupta's son, Bhupesh. He's in the same school, the same class as you, and he always ranks in the top ten of the class, top fifty in the whole grade. And you? You're always stuck between 150 and 180."
His voice grew a bit lighter as he clicked his tongue. "And then your uncle flaunts it at his office, even though his position is lower than mine in the company. It's infuriating, really. You don't know how many times I've wanted to beat that man for all his flaunting, but I can't do that. It's his right, after all. His son has indeed made him proud, even if he's only in the top fifty of the grade!" Marcus clenched his fists, letting out a frustrated sigh.
Anthony pressed his lips together, unable to respond. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his father's disappointment weighing on him just as it had so many times before.
But the truth was, he always listened with one ear and let it out the other. He always promised them that next time his results would be good, but they never became that.
After a long silence, Marcus exhaled, beginning to calm down a bit. As he looked toward his wife, Amelia, he caught her tigress-like glare. The fierceness and dissatisfaction in her eyes were sharp, like the edge of a blade. She slowly slid her hand across her throat in warning, and Marcus gulped his nonexistent saliva immediately. He understood the meaning behind her action perfectly: one more harsh word, and he'd regret it tonight.
His tone softened at once. "Anthony… your father is sorry for speaking so harshly. It's okay, as long as you're working hard. And I have seen these past months that you've indeed been more focused on your studies than ever before. I hope you keep maintaining that focus. Keep at it, son. If you continue like this, I know you'll make me even prouder."
Anthony lifted his head quickly and looked at his father.
"There's no need to apologize, Father. I know my current efforts aren't enough to achieve great results. But I'll work harder. I'll make you proud, definitely," he said, his voice serious and resolute.
Amelia, sitting beside him, stroked his hair gently. "That's the spirit, son. But don't overwork yourself. One thing you should understand is why you study and why we tell you to achieve greater results. Whether you make us proud or not is another topic.
What's most important is that you achieve greatness for yourself, son. And how can you do that?" Amelia stopped and looked toward her son.