Finally! Freedom from exams! Today was the last day of my 10th-grade state board exams, and I could finally breathe. No more textbooks, no more endless revisions, no more sleepless nights. Independence at last! 

"Rudra bhaiii!!! Happy Independence Day!" shouted Kunal as he ran toward me, pulling me into a tight hug. Aarav wasn’t far behind, joining us with his trademark goofy grin. Soon, we were dancing around like maniacs, drawing stares from our classmates. But honestly, who cared? Exams were over, and the jail doors had finally opened! 

Everyone knew me as the school topper—not just of my school, but the entire state of Maharashtra. State board topper, mind you. People often asked why I didn’t join a fancy CBSE or ICSE school. My answer was simple: I wanted to give others a chance to shine. Of course, I could’ve topped there too, but where’s the fun in competing without a challenge? 

After leaving school, the three of us headed to Domino’s to celebrate. Kunal Joshi, my next-door neighbor, and Aarav Shah, who lived miles away, were my partners in crime. Childhood buddies, bound by memories and mischief. We ordered three small-sized chicken pizzas and, in true teenage fashion, clicked pictures, caused chaos, and laughed until our stomachs hurt. 

When the mini party was over, we parted ways and headed home. As soon as I entered, I found my mom in the kitchen, busy preparing dinner. Without thinking, I ran up to her and hugged her from behind, startling her. 

"Rudra! Yeh kya kar rahe ho? Dar gayi main!" she scolded, waving a rolling pin in mock anger. 

("Rudra! What are you doing? You scared me!")

"Arre mummy, relax! Bas gale mil raha tha," I teased, taking the rolling pin from her hand and putting it aside before pulling her into a side hug. 

("Relax, Mom! I was just giving you a hug.")

"Accha, batao, last paper kaisa gaya?" she asked, her eyes filled with curiosity. 

("Okay, tell me—how was your last paper?")

"Bilkul zabardast, mummy! Saare papers khatam! Ab bas masti, dhamal, aur maze!" I said, jumping excitedly like a little kid. 

("It was absolutely awesome, mom! All the papers are done! Now it's just fun, mischief, and enjoyment!")

She smiled warmly. "Wah, yeh toh badi acchi baat hai. Ab koodna bandh karo aur jaake kapde badal lo," she said, trying to sound stern. 

("Wow, that's really good. Now stop jumping around and go change your clothes.")

"Arre mummy, pehle ek dance ho jaaye!" I grabbed her hands, spinning her around in our imaginary silent disco. 

("Oh mom, let’s have a dance first!")

Just as we were laughing and twirling, a strange smell interrupted our fun. I stopped mid-spin, sniffing the air. "Mummy? Yeh badboo kaisi?" I asked, frowning. 

("Mom? What’s that bad smell?")

Her face fell, and she rushed to the stove. The sabzi had burned, turning into an unrecognizable mess. She quickly switched off the gas, glaring at me. 

"RUDRA!!! Yeh sab tumhari wajah se hua!" she yelled, grabbing the rolling pin again. 

("RUDRA!!! This happened because of you!")

"Sorry, mummy!" I shouted, already bolting toward my room as she came charging at me, waving the pin like a sword. Safe in my room, I couldn’t stop laughing. 

That night, we gathered at the dining table. My elder brother, Aditya, sat beside me while my mom served dinner. My father hadn’t arrived yet—he was busy with work, as usual. 

When the doorbell rang, my mom went to open it. My dad walked in, removed his shoes, and headed straight to his room without a word. He was the strictest person in our house, and growing up, my mom had always shielded me from his belt and anger. 

Aditya, my brother, was a lawyer. He had always wanted to pursue law, but my father had other plans for him—business. Their disagreements strained their relationship, and they barely spoke now. 

A few minutes later, my father joined us at the table, carrying a stack of documents. He handed them to me as my mom served him food. 

"Kya hai yeh, papa?" I asked, opening the file. 

("What is this, dad?")

"Yeh tumhare school ka admission form hai. Sign karo. 8 April se classes shuru ho rahi hai. Tumhare NEET ke preparation ke liye tumhe wahan bhej raha hoon. Ek bete se umeed thi, usne toh tod di. Ab tum meri umeed mat todna," he said, his voice firm. 

("This is your school admission form. Sign it. Classes will start on April 8th. I am sending you there for your NEET preparations. I had hopes from one son, and he broke them. Now, you don't break mine.")

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. Yes, I wanted to save lives, to be a doctor. But it wasn’t entirely my dream—it was his. Still, I took the pen and signed the form. 

Aditya interrupted, "Rudra, tum sure ho tumhe doctor banna hai? Tumhe toh music ka passion hai na? Tum guitar kitni acchi tarah se bajate ho. Usme career banao. Kiske dabav mein decision mat lo." 

("Rudra, are you sure you want to be a doctor? You have a passion for music, right? You play the guitar so well. Build a career in that. Don’t make decisions under anyone's pressure.")

Before my father could say anything, I cut him off, "Bhai, woh passion nahi, bas ek hobby hai. Main doctor banna chahta hoon. Logo ki madad karni hai."

("Bro, that’s not a passion, just a hobby. I want to be a doctor. I want to help people.")

I finished my meal quickly and retreated to my room. My guitar stood in its holder, gleaming in the dim light. I picked it up, sitting on my bed. 

I lied to Aditya bhai. Music wasn’t just a hobby—it was my true passion. But my father’s expectations were like a mountain I couldn’t climb over, so I chose the safer path. 

It’s fine, I told myself. I’ll manage. With that, I lay down, clutching my guitar tightly, and drifted off to sleep.