Ting…
A small notification sound broke the evening silence. His phone lit up softly on the old wooden table beside his bed.
He didn't rush to pick it up. Just stared at it for a moment. He already knew what it was. His heart was already beating faster, like it somehow understood before his eyes did.
He unlocked the screen slowly.
No smile on his face. Just quiet breath. Quiet hands.
"Results Published."
He scrolled carefully. Found the list. Found his name.
There it was.
Clear. Simple.
His name written next to a number. A number bigger than any he had imagined.
First rank.
In the school. In the village.
His chest tightened.
He didn't laugh. Didn't jump. Didn't shout.
He just sat there, looking at it.
Somewhere outside, his mother was already telling the neighbors. His father was at the tea shop, shaking hands with people he hadn't spoken to in weeks.
That's how small villages are. News travels fast. Sometimes faster than kindness, faster than truth.
"He did well."
"He's going to the city now."
"He'll make us proud."
Everyone said the same things.
Some with hope.
Some with envy.
Some with genuine happiness.
And deep inside… he wanted it too.
He wanted the city.
He wanted tall buildings, clean streets, classrooms bigger than the entire school here. He wanted to walk through crowded roads wearing a bag on his back, carrying books too heavy for his small village arms.
But tonight…
Tonight it didn't feel like a dream coming true.
It felt like something was quietly ending.
Like a goodbye no one was brave enough to say out loud.
That evening, the school held a small farewell.
Not a big celebration. Just a few lights hanging from trees.
Some teachers. Some friends. Some snacks no one really ate.
Friends laughed louder than usual. Teachers smiled softer than usual. Some kids played music from someone's old phone speaker. Some took blurry photos.
He stood at the side, holding a glass of juice that tasted too sweet.
Watched everyone.
Watched the trees.
Watched the sky slowly turning orange, then purple.
He thought,
"This is my last sunset here."
This road.
This sky.
This soil beneath my feet.
How many times had he walked home through these streets?
How many evenings had he chased after the sound of bells, the smell of food from kitchens, the laughter of children running barefoot?
And now…
He didn't know when he'd walk these roads again.
Didn't know if he'd ever see these faces again — these people who once felt like his whole world.
Later, lying in his small bed under the same tin roof, he stared at the ceiling.
Listened to the night sounds.
The insects singing outside.
The soft wind brushing against the windows.
His mother's quiet footsteps moving in the kitchen.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
Tomorrow, he would be gone from this life.
He closed his eyes, pressed his palm against his chest, and whispered to himself,
"Don't forget this. Don't forget where you come from."
The next morning woke him gently.
Birds singing from the mango tree.
Wind moving through the green fields.
Sunlight slipping in through the cracks of the old wooden door.
He sat up slowly.
Listened.
Breathed.
The village air felt different today.
Fresher. Softer. Like it too knew this was the last morning.
He walked out of the house quietly. Left the door half-open behind him. His feet knew where they were going. He didn't need to think.
Down the narrow path.
Past the old fig tree.
Through the empty fields where children used to fly kites and fall laughing into the grass.
To the river.
The river was calm. Not loud. Just moving. Slowly. Like time itself was in no hurry today.
He sat by the bank. Touched the soil with his fingers.
It felt warm. Familiar. Like home. Like stories whispered by the wind.
He closed his eyes and listened.
The sound of water crawling over stones.
The hum of bees nearby.
The faraway call of a bird who didn't know he was leaving.
He thought,
"This is what peace feels like."
He thought,
"Why do we always have to leave the things that make us feel alive?"
But he knew the answer.
Dreams don't grow in quiet places. That's what people say.
Dreams belong to cities. To tall buildings. To bright lights.
Still…
Part of him wished he could stay here forever.
He went home slowly. Step by step. Looking at every stone, every tree, as if memorizing them for later.
At home, his bags were already packed. Clothes folded neatly by his mother's careful hands. Books stacked properly by his father's quiet strength.
Between them… his small, soft dreams wrapped between pages.
His mother had slipped a family photo between his books.
His father had sharpened a new pencil for him.
Little things.
Small love.
The kind of love that doesn't speak but stays.
They ate breakfast together. Rice. Lentils. Pickles. A little too much salt. A little too much silence.
His mother served him more than usual.
His father said less than usual.
When it was time, they walked to the bus stop. Just him and his father.
No words between them. Just the sound of shoes on dusty roads, dogs barking in the distance, the sun slowly climbing higher.
At the stop, his father placed a hand on his shoulder. Rough. Calloused. Heavy with years of work.
"Study well."
"Stay safe."
"Write home sometimes."
Simple words.
But they carried everything a father couldn't say out loud.
The bus came, coughing smoke into the air.
Strangers climbing in. Faces looking tired. Bags thrown under seats.
He hugged his father. Not too long. Not too tight.
They weren't people who knew how to hold on.
His father patted his back. Twice.
That was enough.
That said everything.
He climbed onto the bus. Found a window seat. Sat down quietly.
As the bus pulled away, he watched his father through the glass.
Smaller. Smaller. Until the road curved and took him out of sight.
He closed his eyes. Took a breath. Whispered,
"Let's do this."
Outside the window, the world passed slowly.
Fields turned to fences.
Fences turned to buildings.
Buildings grew taller. Roads grew wider.
Green faded into grey.
Noise replaced quiet.
He kept watching.
Heart swinging between fear and hope.
Between "What if I fail?" and "What if I fly?"
Finally, the city appeared.
A big gate. Big words.
"WELCOME TO THE CITY."
He looked out at tall buildings standing like giants.
Cars moving like restless ants.
People rushing with tired faces.
He had never seen so much light. So much traffic. So many people.
He felt small.
He felt excited.
He felt like a boy stepping into a dream too big for his hands.
At the stop, someone waited for him.
Sent to fetch him. A stranger with kind eyes.
He followed. Quiet. Carrying his bag. Looking up at buildings that swallowed the sky.
The city was clean. Roads wide. Parks trimmed. Walls painted.
But the people… they looked tired. Cold.
Eyes forward. Phones in hand. No smiles. No greetings. Just footsteps going somewhere fast.
He thought,
"No one here would notice if I disappeared."
The hostel wasn't far. A tall building between taller ones.
The warden greeted him with practiced kindness. Showed him his room.
Plain walls. Steel bed. Dusty window.
Other boys walked the halls. Faces down. Words short.
No laughter. No questions. Just noise and silence mixed together.
He missed his village already.
Where people smiled. Asked names. Offered tea.
Here… no one asked anything.
No one cared.
Evening came. The sun began to sink.
He climbed to the roof. Looking for the sky.
But buildings blocked it.
No wide horizon. No soft clouds. Just more walls.
More rooftops. More antennas scratching at the fading light.
He felt something ache inside.
The sky wasn't supposed to hide.
He stood there a while.
Hands in pockets. Head low.
Then slowly… returned to his room.
Laid down on the unfamiliar bed.
Closed his eyes.
Tomorrow… college would begin.
New books. New faces. New rules.
But tonight…
Tonight he missed home.
Tonight he missed the river.
The birds.
The soil.
His father's hand on his shoulder.
His mother's quiet footsteps.
Tonight, he whispered to himself,
"I hope I don't forget who I am."
And slowly… under a sky he couldn't see…
He fell asleep.