The Boy Who Chose His Own Sky

Arham had always been a quiet observer — the kind of student who sat near the window, watching sunlight spill onto the school playground, imagining stories no one else could see. Teachers often said he had potential, but they meant the kind that led to becoming a doctor or an engineer, not the kind Arham dreamed of.

Arham dreamed of becoming a writer.

But in his world, dreams like that were treated as hobbies — good for free time, but not a “real future.”

His parents were loving, but like many others, they carried the weight of society’s expectations. They wanted security for him, not uncertainty.

One evening, while Arham was writing a short scene in his notebook, his father walked into the room. The air smelled of dinner from the kitchen, and the fan creaked slowly overhead.

“Arham,” his father began, sitting down beside him. “Your board exams are coming. I think it’s time you stop wasting hours on this writing and focus on science. Your future is important.”

Arham nodded silently.

His father wasn’t harsh — just worried. But the words still pricked him like tiny needles.

That night, he stared at the blank page.

For the first time, he couldn’t write a single sentence.

The Weight of Society

In school, the pressure was worse.

Teachers spoke in a chorus that never changed:

“Science is for toppers.”

“Arts? That’s for average students.”

“Choose something respectable.”

Arham felt like the world had already decided who he should become.

During recess, he heard his best friend Adeel say, “Bro, don’t complicate your life. Just do what everyone else does. Follow the safe path.”

Safe.

That word had begun to feel like a cage.

Arham didn’t hate science. He just didn’t belong to it. His mind was built differently — full of metaphors, characters, voices, emotions, ideas. But none of that mattered in a society that measured intelligence by how well you solved equations.

Every day, Arham fought two battles:

One inside himself.

One outside, against everyone else’s expectations.

The Trigger — A Moment That Changes Everything

One day, after a particularly stressful counseling session at school, Arham walked alone to the bus stop. His bag felt heavier than usual, as if carrying society’s opinions inside it.

At the stop sat an old man reading a torn novel.

Arham stared.

Almost without thinking, he asked, “Do you like reading?”

The man smiled.

“Reading? Son, books saved me. They gave me dreams when life didn’t.”

Arham hesitated. “People say dreams should be practical.”

The old man laughed softly.

“Practical dreams build houses. Impossible dreams build worlds.”

Arham felt something shift inside him — a small light turning back on.

Before leaving, the old man said something Arham would remember forever:

“The sky is big, child. Don’t let people force you to live under their umbrellas.”

The Silent Rebellion

That night, Arham made a decision — not loud, not rebellious, not dramatic — but powerful.

He would work hard in school, respect his parents, and fulfill responsibilities…

But he would not give up writing.

He began waking up at 5 a.m., writing for 30 minutes before school.

He wrote on the bus.

During lunch break.

Before sleeping.

He filled pages with stories about courage, pain, love, friendship, broken dreams — everything he felt but couldn’t say.

Writing became his oxygen.

The Moment of Breakthrough

When results came, Arham had done well — better than anyone expected — but not enough for the science stream elite clubs. People told him he should be disappointed.

He wasn’t.

For the first time, he smiled genuinely.

He chose the Arts stream.

His relatives reacted exactly as expected:

“Arts? Why?”

“There’s no future there!”

“Become something respectable.”

Arham listened quietly.

But his heart felt surprisingly calm.

He had finally chosen his own sky.

Seeds Grow in Silence

In college, Arham flourished. He met teachers who appreciated creativity, friends who shared his passion, and people who encouraged him instead of restricting him.

He started posting his short stories online, anonymously.

One night, while having tea on the rooftop, he received a message from an editor of a local magazine:

“Your writing touched me deeply. We would love to publish your piece.”

Arham froze.

His hands trembled.

That one message felt like a thousand suppressed dreams suddenly waking up.

He didn’t tell anyone immediately — he just closed his eyes and let the wind wrap around him.

For the first time, he wasn’t surviving expectation.

He was living his passion.

The Day the World Changes

A few months later, Arham’s story was published.

People shared it, praised it, discussed it.

One morning, his father walked into his room holding the magazine.

There was no anger in his voice.

Only softness.

“Arham,” he said quietly, “your words… they’re beautiful.”

Arham felt his throat tighten.

His father continued, “I didn’t understand your dream before. But I do now. If writing is what you want, we’re with you.”

Tears gathered in Arham’s eyes.

He had imagined this moment a hundred times, but reality was gentler.

Years Later

Arham grew up to become a well-known content writer, a storyteller whose words touched thousands. He spoke at schools and told students:

“Dreams don’t die because they’re small.

They die because people stop believing in them.”

He had learned that society always talks — but only you can decide whether to listen or to rise above.

Moral / Ending Note

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is choose your own sky when the world wants to keep you under its umbrella.

Dreams don’t need permission.

They need courage.