THE CAGE OF KIAN

The Cage of Kian

Kian sat motionless on the edge of his bed, the dim light from the flickering lamp casting long shadows across the walls of his small room. His gaze was fixed on the door, but his mind was far from it.

Inside him was a cage—vast and ethereal, yet heavy with the weight of his unspoken dreams. The cage gleamed with colors so bright they seemed to belong to another world, each one pulsating with possibilities. His hopes and visions coiled within the bars like restless creatures, waiting for release. But outside the cage, the world remained distant, an unknown place full of judgment and uncertainty.

The memory of the conversation with his friend earlier that day echoed in his mind. She had asked him, with genuine concern, why he hadn't shared his artwork yet—why he was keeping it hidden. Her words, though simple, had been a trigger, a reminder of everything he kept locked inside.

"Why don't you just show it? People might love it," she had said. "You never know until you try."

But now, as he sat in the stillness of his room, he could feel the familiar weight of doubt creep in. His fingers twitched toward the lock on the cage. For a brief moment, he considered stepping outside, letting his dreams flow freely into the world.

But then, the voice came, like a whisper in the back of his mind, familiar and comforting.

Are you sure you're ready to show them? it asked, its tone full of doubt. Do you really think you can carry the weight of what you’re about to send out into the world? People will reject you. They will laugh at you. Is it not safer here? No judgment. No expectations. You can just be yourself. No one will ask more of you than you can give.

The voice, warm and familiar, tugged at him, urging him to stay within the safety of his room. It reminded him of all the reasons why the cage was a better place. The fear of judgment, the fear of failure—here, none of that mattered.

But as always, a second voice stirred, faint but persistent.

Maybe you’re right, it whispered. But think about it—what if there’s someone out there who needs to see this? Someone who could benefit from your art. Even if people reject you, isn’t it worth the risk? Don’t you owe it to yourself to try?

Kian’s heart raced as the pull between the two voices grew stronger. The cage felt heavier now, its colors brighter, almost blinding. The thrill of possibility surged within him, but the fear of rejection, the fear of failure, tugged him back.

He stood, his body trembling with the tension of the decision. He walked toward the door of the cage, the light from within casting a soft glow against the darkness of the room. His hand hovered over the lock.

But then, the doubts flooded in once more.

You're not ready, the voice of fear warned. You’ll fail. You’ll disappoint yourself. You’ll be alone in the end.

Kian froze, his breath shallow. The weight of those words pressed down on him, and slowly, his hand fell away from the lock. He sat back down, his body heavy with the exhaustion of his own thoughts.

He had been here so many times before—caught in the same loop of desire and doubt. Each time, the passion to step out, to show the world what lay inside him, had burned brightly. But each time, it faded. The cage retreated into the shadows of his mind once again.

Yet, as he sat there in the stillness, the faint voice of encouragement refused to completely fade.

One day, it said, barely a whisper now. One day, you’ll find the strength to open that door. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday.

For now, Kian remained in his room, the cage just beyond his reach. His dreams, his vision, his colors—they swirled inside, waiting, always waiting.

But in his heart, something stirred. He wasn’t ready yet, but someday, someday, he would find the strength to open the door.

And maybe then, the world outside wouldn’t seem so frightening after all.