It was about ten-thirty at night.
The light in the room was on, but it didn't seem to reach inside him.
Spread across the table were a few old certificates.
Grade 10.
Grade 12.
A computer course certificate.
All the papers were there.
But there was no work.
He sat in silence.
Suddenly, his father's cough was heard from the next room.
It wasn't a loud cough.
But it was deep.
He knew what this cough meant.
Father was tired.
His body wasn't what it used to be.
His heart trembled slightly.
There was another interview this afternoon.
On the way back, he didn't look anyone in the eye.
He entered the house with his head bowed.
Mother had asked—
"How did it go?"
He only said,
"Let's see…"
Mother said nothing more.
This phrase, "Let's see," now felt disgusting to him.
How long has he been saying just "Let's see"?
He looked in the mirror.
His eyes were red.
His hair was messy.
A strange exhaustion was etched on his face.
He asked himself—
"Where is the problem?"
Outside?
Or inside me?
The next morning.
An uncomfortable silence at the breakfast table.
Father was eating his rice quietly.
Mother said in a soft voice—
"I heard Rifat got the job."
Rifat.
His school friend.
They sat on the same bench.
Had the same results.
Now Rifat works in a big office in the city.
He said nothing.
The sound of the spoon suddenly felt louder.
Father only said,
"Good. The boy was hardworking."
The words weren't directed at him.
But they hit him right in the chest.
He was hardworking.
Then what am I?
He understood—
Father didn't mean to insult him.
But comparison creates itself.
That afternoon, he went up to the roof.
So many houses around.
So many people.
But he felt alone.
He took out his phone and opened social media.
Rifat's photo—
A new shirt.
An office ID card.
Caption: "New journey begins."
Something broke inside him.
He turned off the phone.
He realized—
His problem wasn't just not finding work.
His problem was—
He was losing himself.
At night, Mother came to his room.
She sat quietly by the bed and said—
"Son, don't be heavy-hearted."
The words were simple.
But tears welled up in his eyes.
Mother spoke again—
"You are trying. Allah is watching."
He knows—
Mother understands his pain.
But he cannot even measure his own pain anymore.
He suddenly asked—
"Ma, am I unqualified?"
Mother paused for a moment.
Then she said very calmly—
"Unqualified people don't ask that question."
This one line kept spinning in his head.
He couldn't sleep that night.
He opened up his life and looked at it.
Had he really tried his best?
Did he prepare properly before the interviews?
Or did he spend his time watching YouTube?
Did he study at a specific time every day?
Or only when he felt like it?
The truth was painful.
He had worked—
But he wasn't consistent.
He had wanted it—
But he hadn't brought discipline.
He had dreamed—
But he hadn't built a routine.
This realization didn't make him cry.
Instead, it made him quiet.
He woke up at dawn.
After a long time, he watched the sun rise.
The sky was clear.
He made a decision in his mind—
From today, he won't think about the result.
From today, he will only work.
He will start small.
He took out a piece of paper.
He wrote—
Wake up at 6:00 AM
2 hours of skill learning
Send CV to 5 places every day
1 hour of reading
Phone: no more than 2 hours
The list wasn't long.
But it was his first real plan.
He knows—
Tomorrow, he might still not get a job.
Nor the month after.
But today, he will not lie to himself.
In the night, Father coughed again.
This time, he got up and brought him water.
Father looked at him.
He said nothing.
But there was a softness in his eyes.
He realized—
The time isn't over yet.
He is still standing.
He hasn't broken.
Chapter End Line:
"He is not successful yet.
But he is no longer running away."