“I hate this game! I can’t believe this is what you got me. I don’t like this colour; I don’t like this food!”
Aditya disliked almost everything. His parents, tired and frustrated, didn’t know what more to do.
One day, when Aditya didn’t get what he wanted from the market, he stormed into his room and slammed the door. After lying on his bed for over an hour, he got up to leave—but the door wouldn’t open.
“Mom? Dad?” he shouted. “Open the door!” The handle didn’t budge. Suddenly, a voice replied, calm but firm:
“You won’t be allowed out, Aditya. Not until you realise your mistakes.”
His eyes widened. The door… was speaking. He banged on it. “Enough with this stupid game!” No reply. Just a slow creak.
The door swung open—but instead of the hallway, Aditya found himself standing in a narrow alley. A barefoot boy sat on the steps. A woman came out, handing him a small piece of bread and watery lentil soup, where the water looked more than the dal.
Aditya stared. “Papa?” he whispered. The boy looked just like his father.
No one could see him, but he could see and hear everything.
He watched the boy carry schoolbooks and do chores, helping his parents instead of playing. The boy still smiled, even during hard times. One day, he stared longingly at a football in a shop window.
“Too expensive,” said the boy’s father gently. “Maybe next time.”
Aditya blinked. He was confused—he always got whatever he looked at.
Time passed quickly. The boy studied in free times, helped his younger siblings with homework, and often missed fun to finish his tasks.
Slowly, Aditya saw things changing, the same boy, now older, stood in front of a classroom, teaching children. His eyes were gentle but firm and as he walked out of the classroom, he entered into a cabin that wrote principal and Aditya realised that it was his father’s cabin. Aditya smiled softly.
Then the mist returned, and he was somewhere else. Now he saw a girl sitting in a tiny room, stitching old notebooks together. She read with joy, but had to stop often to cook or clean. Aditya watched her quietly. “That’s… Mama,” he whispered.
She smiled when she studied, even if no one noticed.
Time moved on, and Aditya saw her growing up. She sat at a desk with books and numbers, wearing glasses and a quiet smile. She had become an accountant.
Aditya then found himself in a hospital room. A man held a newborn baby— “Aditya,” he said softly.
“We’ll give him everything we never had,” said the father.Agreed the mother Said.
Aditya saw his own life pass—birthday after birthday, every toy, every complaint. Every time he shouted or sulked, his parents just looked at each other, silently hurt. He had never known what they had given up.
The mist returned. Aditya stood back at his door. The voice asked, “Do you understand now?”
Aditya whispered, “They weren’t trying to control me. They were just… trying to love me.”
The door unlocked and he was Back in his room, everything looked different. The toys, the clothes, even the untouched plate of food. He walked to the kitchen, where his parents stood. He didn’t say much—just hugged them tightly.
For the first time, Aditya didn’t see just his parents. He saw two people who were once children too—who had struggled, dreamed, and worked hard so he could live better.
And he understood their quiet sacrifices.
– Christina K Sangma