Chapter 11: The Weight of Yesterday

Morning After the Call – A New Beginning?

The morning sun filters through the dusty hostel window, casting a soft, golden hue across the room. The air is stale, thick with the scent of unwashed clothes and cold leftovers. Debasish blinks, adjusting to the light, and for the first time in months, he wakes up without the usual crushing weight of despair pressing down on his chest.

His mind replays Nani’s words from the night before:

"You don’t have to be perfect, beta. You just have to try."

Her voice, gentle yet firm, lingers like an echo in his heart.

He sits up, his body heavy with exhaustion from countless sleepless nights. His phone lies inches away on the bedside table, its screen dark but calling out to him like a whispered temptation. His usual reflex is to grab it—to escape, to drown himself in videos and notifications, to avoid reality.

But today, he hesitates.

No.

Not today.

He exhales deeply and reaches instead for his Physics book, pulling it open with shaky hands. The crisp pages, once filled with endless possibilities, now seem like foreign territory. Equations and concepts blur before his tired eyes, symbols merging into an indecipherable mess. His fingers tighten around the pen, knuckles turning white.

"I can do this. I have to."

A Glimpse of the Past – Who He Used to Be

As he forces himself to read, a memory drifts in—soft and uninvited, yet piercing through his mind like a beam of light through a cracked door.

A seven-year-old Debasish sits cross-legged on the cool marble floor of their home, his tiny hands clutching a bright red toy stethoscope. The earpieces dangle awkwardly around his small face, too big for his ears. The chest piece—a flimsy plastic circle—rests against his mother’s arm.

His mother, draped in a faded green cotton saree, watches him with an affectionate smile, her eyes filled with warmth despite the tiredness that lingers in them.

"Doctor Debu! What will you do when I get sick?" she teases, her voice playful yet carrying a mother’s deep love.

The boy beams, his dark eyes shining with unfiltered innocence. He puffs out his tiny chest, pretending to listen for her heartbeat.

"I will cure you!" he declares proudly. "And Papa! And Didi too! I will take care of everyone!"

His mother lets out a soft laugh, cradling his chubby face in her hands. Her fingers, rough from years of household chores, brush against his soft cheeks.

"Then you will be the happiest doctor in the world," she whispers, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Happiest.

The word lingers in his mind, wrapping around his heart like a forgotten promise.

The air in the hostel room suddenly feels too thick. His grip on the pen loosens.

"Where did that child go?"

Once, he was full of dreams—pure, untainted, untouched by the weight of failure. He was shy but kind. Innocent but determined. His only wish was to bring happiness to his family.

Now?

All he brings is disappointment.

He blinks back tears, his vision swimming. His nails dig into the pages of the book, but the words don’t make sense anymore.

"I wanted to be their pride… but I’ve become their burden."

Reality Crashes In – The Same Cycle Begins Again

Two hours pass.

The clock ticks away mercilessly as he struggles to focus. His brain burns with effort, the strain of concentration unfamiliar. He forces himself to solve one question, then another—slowly, painfully.

And then…

A notification flashes on his phone.

His heart jumps.

A moment of weakness.

"Just for a second."

His fingers move before his mind can stop them. The lock screen vanishes. One second turns into five minutes.

Then ten.

Then thirty.

His study table fades into the background. His past, his regrets, his family’s sacrifices—everything drowns under the flood of temporary pleasure.

By the time he snaps out of it, the clock mocks him. Two hours gone.

A cold wave of regret crashes over him like a tsunami.

"I did it again. I ruined it again."

His heart pounds, anxiety curling in his chest. The same shame. The same failure.

He grips his hair, breathing unevenly. His reflection stares back at him from the dusty mirror across the room—eyes hollow, face gaunt, the ghost of a boy who once wanted to heal the world.

"I wanted to change. I really did. But… why am I like this?"

His mother’s face flashes in his mind. Then his father’s. His sister’s.

Then, his past self. The little boy with the toy stethoscope.

The child who once wanted to gmive happiness.

But instead, he is giving them sorrow.

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