Tony sat quietly at the kitchen table, his voice barely above a whisper as he asked, "Mom, can I have more sausage for my sandwich?" It was unlike him to speak so softly, so carefully. His usual boldness had been replaced by something more delicate-perhaps it was because of the test he had failed at school, or maybe it was the sting of his classmates' cruel jokes earlier that day.
He had wanted nothing more than to make his parents proud. His dream? To silence his peers with outstanding grades and take the top spot in class-earning the right to brag with every scorecard. Tony, only twelve, buried himself in his studies, pushing far beyond the limits of a normal schoolboy. He sacrificed sleep, entertainment, and even the small joys of childhood for the sake of excellence.
Without telling his mother, he once ventured into a pawn shop, picking up second-hand treasures-an old laptop, worn-out books, some toys, and odds and ends that sparked his curiosity. He began distancing himself from his classmates, choosing solitude over social circles. School corridors became quieter for him, his mind always racing with thoughts far beyond his age.
Among the books he devoured was one that left a lasting impression: Stephen Hawking's theories on time, paradoxes, and the mysteries of the universe. He gave up his phone to eliminate distractions, setting his sights on a laser-sharp focus. Slowly but surely, his efforts bore fruit. He climbed up the academic ladder, powered by determination and the quiet ache of isolation.
Eventually, Tony passed almost all his subjects-except Psychology. A scandal broke out when he was accused of cheating, but the truth was more twisted: a jealous classmate had framed him. Despite this, his parents stood by him, their pride unwavering. They asked him what he wanted as a reward. Tony's answer was simple: "Books. Discovery books. Research articles. Anything on time, on cosmology."
That summer, his room transformed into a mini-laboratory of thought. Piles of books, papers, and notebooks surrounded him as he dived headfirst into the world of time travel. He questioned whether it was real or merely a construct of science fiction. Could timelines really be altered? Could one truly move backward or forward in time?
He scribbled down theories-some grounded, others wild. "Even the smallest displacement from a nodal point," he wrote, "if magnified and understood, might hold the secret to time travel." The idea consumed him. Night after night, he tried to connect the dots, hoping to understand the impossible.
Tony didn't know it then, but he was chasing something greater than grades or approval-he was reaching for the fabric of the universe itself.