The moment I stepped through the front door, the silence of the house greeted me like a soft sigh. Papa looked up from the couch, eyes filled with the same quiet hope that always made my heart ache.
"How was your interview, beta?" he asked gently.
I dropped my bag near the door and managed a small smile. "Got rejected. Again."
The words should've stung, but surprisingly, they didn't. There was still this flicker of something inside me—hope, stubborn and alive. "But don't worry, Papa," I said quickly, before he could say anything. "It doesn't matter that I got rejected again. One day, I'll get a job that values my skills and what I bring to the table."
Papa's lips curved into a smile, but I could see the pain behind it. He tried to hide it, but I knew him too well. His eyes always gave him away. "I'm proud of you, beta," he said softly. "You'll find the right opportunity."
"I won't give up, Papa," I promised, feeling that spark reignite inside me.
Mummy came in from the kitchen, worry written all over her face. "Nisha, why don't you take a break? You've been through so much lately."
I shook my head. "No, Mummy. If I stop now, it'll be harder to start again. I just need to keep moving forward."
I sat down beside Papa, clutching Rohit's little notebook in my hand. His handwriting was messy, the pages full of doodles and notes about interview tips. Just looking at it made me feel less alone.
"Rohit's support means everything," I murmured.
Papa smiled faintly. "He's a good friend, beta."
He was more than that—he was my anchor.
Later that night, I lay on my bed, the ceiling fan humming softly above me. My phone buzzed, and I didn't even need to check the screen to know who it was.
"Hey, Rohit," I answered, my voice quieter than usual.
"How'd it go today?" he asked, cautious, like he already knew the answer.
I sighed, staring at the faint patterns on my ceiling. "Another rejection. They didn't even ask me any real questions. Just told me I wasn't a 'good fit.'" I paused. "I know it's because of my autism. They don't say it, but I can see it in their faces."
For a few seconds, Rohit didn't speak. But his silence was the kind that comforted—it wasn't empty; it was listening.
"Hey," he said finally, voice steady and warm. "Don't let them define you like that. You're brilliant, Nisha. You just need one person to see what I already do."
My throat tightened, but not from sadness. His words felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Thanks, Rohit. I needed that."
He laughed softly. "You always say that. But I'm serious, okay? Don't give up. You've got this."
I smiled, feeling lighter for the first time all day. "I won't. I promise."
"Yes, that's my Nisha. Well, Tomorrow let's create a video of yours, showing all your skills, talents, and everything. Let the world know who they are underestimating." Rohit told me, enthusiastically, I thought for a second and agreed, "Ok."
"Great, I'll be there tomorrow at your place. With all the necessary things for shooting"
By hearing that, I immediately denied him. "No, not tomorrow!"
"What? Why not?" questioned Rohit. I sighed and answered, "I have an interview tomorrow." He then agreed, "I'll then come with the camera and stuff next time, just let me know when you are free. Good luck for tomorrow"
"Ok, I'll let you know. And thank you."
When we hung up and stayed still for a long time, the phone pressed to my chest. The rejection still hurt, but it didn't feel final anymore.
Down the hallway, I could hear Mummy and Papa talking in low voices. Their concern always hovered in the air, but so did their faith in me.
I wasn't just fighting for a job. I was fighting for my place in a world that didn't always understand people like me.
But I had something stronger than their doubt—my determination, my parents' belief, and Rohit's unwavering support.
As the night deepened, I whispered to myself, "I'll make them proud. I'll make me proud."
And for the first time in a long while, I believed it completely.