#1 SECOND SIGHT
The pressure was high. The stakes were high. Always were and always would be. He had to become a doctor and take over his father's practice. His father was a well-known ophthalmologist, whose shoes he'd never fill but just had to.
He spent days struggling with his books. He tried so hard but none of it made any sense. He wanted to hear that he made his father proud just once. Even if he didn't hear it, just to see one approving look in his father's eyes.
He spent early mornings and late nights forcing himself to study. The day would come. Exam week was terrible. He felt blank despite all that work. Suddenly it felt like he knew nothing. He could only hope he did well.
His friends were chilling after the exams but he was still stressed. What if he failed? What if he wasn't good enough?
By the time the results came, he was a nervous wreck. One look, and he felt like all his hard work was a waste. He didn't perform as well as he should have. His father didn't believe in second chances.
He couldn't help being suffocated by the feeling that he was a failure. He had thought he was doing a good job but had screwed up all along.
He thought of what his father would say. His mother would make excuses for him, but that never took away the shame.
Hours later his father stood next to his cold clammy body shouting for help. He'd rush to the ER hoping to save his only child. He'd wonder if he had failed as a father.
He couldn't help being suffocated by the feeling that he was a failure. He had thought he was doing a good job but had screwed up all along.
He thought of what his father would say. His mother would make excuses for him, but that never took away the shame.
Had he been too harsh? How did he miss the signs? Blinded by ambition, blinded by society, he had forgotten who he needed to be for his son.
He'd been watching his son like a hawk but had been blind to what his son needed. Blind to the pain in his son's eyes. Blind to his longing. All he wanted now was a second chance. One that he wasn't willing to give his son a few hours back. This second sight had come at a heavy price, one that he hoped he didn't have to pay for with a life.
#2 INTERLOPER
She was poring over a tiny book in a corner. Hidden from plain sight. You wouldn't see her if you didn't search hard enough.
Eyebrows furried, she was focussed.
Int.. interlope. Interloper.
She was learning words from the dictionary for the lack of other entertainment.
The last of 5 children, she was more of an accident that couldn't be stopped.
Her father hardly spoke and was always strict. Her mother loved all her 4 brothers but resented her existence. She didn't have to say as much. She didn't say much, in fact.
They had just finished their Sunday lunch. They had been discussing over lunch when she got back from class.
The mood seemed jovial till she stepped in. She brought a mist of gloom over the house as she walked in.
Her mother's smile evaporated and her father's tone condensed into the usual stern tone. Her tears showering down her cheeks, she ran to the bathroom.
She didn't have a place in this house, but she had a word in the dictionary. Interloper.
#3 JAM
With that the last bottle of jam was ready. Her earliest memories were of stealing jam that her grandmother made. Today she would make her own but it never tasted the same. The tree was years old, had always been there. But the tree didn't always bear fruit.
Her grandmother's father had planted the tree as a tiny sapling. It had been the first time he had tried to help his wife in the garden. Over the years, he would obsessively take care of it, and it grew but bore no fruit. His family thought he was crazy and wasting his time. He wasn't much of a gardener but his wife loved her garden. Keeping her garden alive felt like keeping a part of her alive.
His children were always busy with their own work. This was a waste of time, and needed too much effort. His grandchildren enjoyed working with him in the mud though. As they grew older, they drifted apart and he grew weaker. Still he spent all his waking hours obsessing over his garden.
When his grandchildren came back from college on vacation, they helped him google his plant's symptoms. Some of his wife's plants were dying. Soon they were ordering tools and supplies to help in his garden and before he knew it, they had a small vegetable garden that was thriving. The tree still bore no fruit, but he was happy just to have an old friend in this greenery.
His children who complained about being normal and eating store-bought produce would later realise what they'd missed out on. He lived long enough to see the tree bear fruit for the first time.The tree would go on to see generations from his family enjoy its fruit, steal jam and thrive. He nurtured it through the years where everyone saw it as a waste of resources and time, knowing that whether it bore fruit or not, it deserved as much love as the others.
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