The World Is a Stage

Scene I: The Opening Act — The Dreamer

In a quiet village nestled between green hills, a boy named Arman was born. His eyes always sparkled with wonder. While other children played with sticks and stones, Arman crafted imaginary kingdoms in the clouds. His mother used to say, “This child belongs to the stars.”

As he grew, Arman was enchanted by theater. The village had a small, dusty stage where local actors performed during festivals. One day, he sneaked backstage and stood before the worn curtain. He whispered to himself, “One day, I will own this stage.”

His first role came unexpectedly at the age of ten, when a lead actor fell ill and Arman was asked to step in. Nervous but excited, he stood under the lights and delivered his lines. When the crowd clapped, a fire lit in his chest. It was the sound of purpose.

Scene II: The Struggler

Years passed, and Arman left the village to chase his dream in the city. The world beyond the hills wasn’t as gentle. Big theaters laughed at his accent. Auditions became constant rejection. He worked as a waiter by day, rehearsed in front of a cracked mirror by night.

One rainy evening, Arman landed a small role — a dying soldier in a war play. He had just three lines, but he gave them his heart. A critic in the audience wrote, “Though brief, his presence left a mark. The unknown soldier stole the scene.”

That article pinned on his wall became his first badge of hope.

Scene III: The Star

Eventually, Arman began to shine. One powerful performance after another, he rose through the ranks. His name lit up posters: Arman Khan in “The Emperor’s Fall”. People lined up outside theaters to watch him cry, laugh, and die — all on cue.

Fame followed. Awards glistened on his shelf. Interviews flooded in. But in the glare of success, he began to lose touch with his roots. His lines were flawless, but something felt... hollow. Was it all just acting now? Had he become a character even off stage?

One day, after a standing ovation, an old woman waited by the exit. Wrinkled hands, gray hair — it was his mother. She said nothing, just hugged him tightly and whispered, “My child still belongs to the stars.”

He cried for the first time in years — not for a role, but for himself.

Scene IV: The Director

Fame eventually faded, as it always does. New faces replaced him. But Arman had matured. He stepped behind the curtain, this time as a director. He trained young dreamers, reminded them to feel more than perform. He taught them that every role — even the smallest — carries truth.

One of his students once asked, “Sir, how did you know who you really were?”

He smiled and said, “Every role taught me a part of myself. The lover, the villain, the fool, the king. The stage wasn’t fake. It was the only place I was real.”

Scene V: The Final Bow

In his old age, Arman returned to his village. The dusty stage still stood, but now it bore his name: “The Arman Khan Theater.” He sat quietly in the last row as a young boy performed his debut. The boy stumbled, forgot a line, and the crowd tensed.

Arman stood, clapped loudly, and shouted, “Bravo!” The audience followed. The boy smiled. A new dream had been born.

That night, under the same stars he had once wished upon, Arman passed away peacefully. Beside him was a letter, addressed to the world:

“We are all actors in this great play called life. We enter, perform, and exit. But if you live each scene truthfully — even your smallest role will echo through time.”

🎭 Curtain Falls.

💡 Moral:

Life gives us many stages — childhood, love, failure, success, old age. Each is a role we must live with truth. The world is not just a stage, but a sacred space where we act, grow, and leave our mark.