''DONT GIVE UP''

The sun had barely risen over the quiet village of Mukhra when Asha tied her long hair into a loose braid, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stepped onto the dusty path that led to the nearest town—eight kilometers away.

She walked with purpose, even though the road was long and the journey lonely. Her sandals were worn, and her books were held together with rubber bands, but she carried them like treasure. For Asha, every step forward was a step closer to her dream of becoming a doctor.

In a village where girls were expected to marry young, Asha dared to dream differently. Her father, once a schoolteacher, had always encouraged her to learn. But after a stroke left him paralyzed, the burden of caring for the family fell on Asha and her mother. Her brothers had moved to the city for work, sending little money back.

Asha worked afternoons at a small tea stall after school, scrubbing dishes and pouring hot chai for travelers. She studied by candlelight and walked to a government library in town every weekend. It was exhausting, but quitting was never an option. Not when her father still believed in her with the silent strength of his eyes.

But even belief had its limits.

One rainy morning, her mother stopped her at the door. "Asha, we can’t do this anymore," she said. "We need your help at home full-time. Your studies—maybe it’s time to let them go."

Asha’s throat tightened. She didn’t speak. She just nodded, left her bag behind, and stayed home that day. One day became two, and two became a week. Her books gathered dust on the shelf. The library felt like a world slipping further away.

That week, Mr. Rao, a retired teacher who often saw Asha reading under the banyan tree, came looking for her.

"Where have you been, girl?" he asked.

Asha shrugged. "It’s no use, sir. My mother’s right. I have responsibilities."

Mr. Rao sat down beside her. "You think those who succeed have no burdens? Every great story starts with struggle. The question is not whether you have obstacles—it's whether you’re willing to keep walking despite them."

Asha looked away. "What if I keep walking and still fail?"

He smiled gently. "Then at least you’ll fail knowing you didn’t give up. But if you stop now, you’ve already failed."

The next morning, she put her bag back on and walked again. Her mother didn’t stop her. She didn’t approve, but she saw the fire in her daughter’s eyes, and she had once loved a man with the same fire.

Mr. Rao began tutoring Asha in the evenings after her work shift. They studied under a flickering bulb in his modest home. He introduced her to online courses, helped her fill out scholarship forms, and even gave her a secondhand smartphone so she could watch biology videos.

The road didn’t get easier—it got harder.

There were nights when she fell asleep on her books. Days when customers mocked her for being “too smart for a chai girl.” Times when she wanted to scream or cry or just give in. But every time doubt crept in, she remembered her father's hand gripping hers after his stroke, how he tried to say "doctor" even when words failed him.

Two years later, Asha stood in the same dusty lane, holding a letter with trembling hands.

“Congratulations! You have been awarded the National Rural Scholars Grant for Medical Studies.”

She ran all the way home, tears streaming down her face. Her mother, seeing the envelope, clutched her to her chest. For the first time in years, her father smiled a full smile, tears welling in his tired eyes.

Asha left for the city a month later. The village gathered to bid her farewell. She wasn’t just going for herself—she was carrying every girl's silent dream, every mother’s unspoken hope.

Years later, Asha returned—not in worn sandals, but in a white coat. She opened a small clinic near her village, providing care to those who had none. Children gathered around her like she was magic. And maybe she was. After all, she'd done the impossible.

Not all at once. Not without fear. But one step at a time.

Against all odds.

The End