Result day always feels louder than it should.
Birds still chirp, traffic still flows, and neighbors still talk about the weather — but for the one waiting on the outcome, the world feels like it's holding its breath. My palms were sweating before I even opened my eyes that morning. The air felt heavier, like the day itself knew something was about to break.
My phone buzzed at 8:07 a.m. sharp.
"Results are out."
That was all the message said. My heart slammed against my chest.
For a moment, I just stared at the screen. It felt like the calm before a storm that would either wash me clean or sweep me away completely.
I opened the site.
Roll number. Birth date. Captcha.
Submit.
The loading circle spun like it had all the time in the world, like it didn't care how many dreams it held hostage.
And then…
There it was.
My marks.
Rank.
Status: Qualified.
But not what I expected. Not what I had worked for.
Not even close.
I stared at the screen, numb. It didn't feel like disappointment. Not yet. Just… stillness. The kind that comes right before your mind starts tearing itself apart.
I didn't fail. But I didn't shine either.
And in a world where people only celebrate the top five, being "average" felt like being invisible all over again.
For a while, I sat there motionless. My parents were waiting outside the room, I knew that. Hopeful. Quiet. Pretending not to be anxious. I didn't know how to walk out and say, "It wasn't what we dreamed."
I finally did.
My mother smiled — soft, a little sad, but trying.
My father nodded, patted my shoulder. "We're proud of you," he said.
But I could hear the pause before those words. The silence that filled the hallway afterward.
I locked myself in my room and curled into the corner of my bed. The numbers kept flashing in my mind like neon lights I couldn't turn off. The sacrifices, the sleepless nights, the burnt-out thoughts — all for this?
Then came the calls. Messages.
Some people celebrated their ranks like lottery wins.
Some posted screenshots.
Some friends sent "Congrats!" without asking how I felt.
And that's what stung the most.
No one asked.
No one said, "Are you okay?"