The room was still, heavy with that strange, early morning quiet — the kind where everything feels possible and impossible at the same time.
Chinmay sat at the edge of his bed, his bare feet cold against the tiled floor. His phone lay inches away on the nightstand, its screen dark but humming in his mind like a siren.
"Pick me up. Just for a second. One chapter won't hurt. It's not a big deal."
His fingers twitched. He could already feel the warm comfort of the story world waiting for him — a thousand fake victories, a million easy escapes. It was so easy to sink back into that world, to lose himself and forget who he was.
One day won't make a difference, a voice whispered inside him. You've earned a little break. Start tomorrow. Come on, it's just one tap.
His heart hammered painfully against his ribs.
He knew this voice too well.
It had won too many battles before.
His hand moved slightly toward the phone — an automatic motion built from hundreds of days of surrendering to habit. His breath hitched.
He could almost see himself: another wasted day, another wasted promise.
Another quiet betrayal.
But then —
A flash.
That broken reflection from the mirror last night.
The eyes that looked hollow.
The face that wasn't proud of him.
He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.
"No," he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky but real.
It felt like lifting a mountain, but he stood up, forcing his body to move. He grabbed the phone — but instead of unlocking it, he threw it across the bed, out of reach.
His heart pounded harder, his chest tight like he'd run a race. His mind screamed at him, Go back! Just check it! You can still read one chapter! Nobody will know!
But he ignored it.
He turned toward the small desk by the window.
There, covered in a thin layer of dust, lay the journal.
Unused. Forgotten. Mocking him with its blank pages.
His legs moved stiffly toward it, each step a fight against the weight of all the excuses he had told himself for years.
He sat down at the desk.
The chair creaked under his weight, but he barely noticed. His whole focus was locked on that journal.
What are you even going to write? his mind taunted. You'll probably fail again anyway.
His throat felt tight. His hands trembled slightly as he picked up a pen.
He opened the journal — crisp, untouched pages staring back at him like a challenge.
He closed his eyes for a second.
Breathed in.
Breathed out.
Then, with shaky, stubborn fingers, he wrote:
"Today, I fought back."
The words looked small, almost laughable.
But to him, they were everything.
For the first time in a long, long time —
he had made a different choice.
He had won one small battle in the silent war raging inside him.
Chinmay leaned back, staring at the words.
They weren't perfect. They didn't fix everything.
But they were real.
And maybe, just maybe, they were enough to begin.
---(To be continued...)
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