At dawn, Arif woke to his mother crying.
His father had a heart attack.
Hospital lights.
Cold chairs.
Bills with terrifying numbers.
Arif sold his watch, his ring—everything.
The doctor said,
"He's stable now."
That sentence felt like life itself.
That night, a message arrived.
Neela.
"My marriage is fixed.
I couldn't fight.
You can.
Please finish your dream."
Arif didn't cry.
Some pain leaves through breath, not tears.
He decided—
no matter the job, no matter the insult,
he would not stop.
"The day my father fell sick,
I stopped being just a son—
I became responsible."