The morning light bled softly through the curtains, golden and almost forgiving. Rohit sat cross-legged on his bed, sweat still drying on his skin, the echo of his breath slowly returning to calm. His workout was done. Muscles aching in that quiet, satisfying way.
He had fought his demons this morning.
And won.
At least for today.
But now…
Now came the stillness.
He looked around the room, eyes resting on the plain walls, the water bottle on his table, his phone lying face down, deliberately untouched. His chest rose and fell. The silence wasn't oppressive—but it wasn't peace either.
"Mornings have become the only time I feel alive."
"By afternoon, I'm drifting."
"By night, I'm gone."
He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers pausing at the sweat-damp collar of his t-shirt. Was it just two days ago? Or three? He couldn't remember.
"What did I even do that evening?"
"Watched a movie?"
"Maybe... Can't even recall the name."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, not quite a laugh. More like a tired sigh that didn't want to admit how right he was. His hands dropped onto his knees, eyes unfocused.
"So what's the next step?" he muttered, voice low, like he was afraid of waking something sleeping inside.
He stood, walked slowly toward the window, pulling the curtain aside with a single finger. The world outside moved on—cars honking in the distance, a milkman passing by on a scooter, the sharp whistle of a pressure cooker from another flat.
"I can't get fit in a day," he said aloud, as if stating it would lessen the absurd weight of impatience.
"It'll take weeks… months maybe. if i had been gifted it would have been a different thing , i have seen a video of transformation of 100 kg dude who awaken a lame power of resting when needed . but that give him access to mana and he was able to loose and get shredded in 6 month . "
"But I can't wait that long."
"If I wait, I'll stall."
"If I stall, I'll sink again."
"I have to keep going "
He turned back, sat at his study chair this time, elbows resting on the desk, chin on his folded hands.
"Body. Mind. Soul."
He nodded slowly to himself. That seemed right. A framework. Something old and familiar.
"The body… I've started. Morning workouts. Sweat. Discipline."
"Next—my mind."
He tapped his temple with a finger, thoughtful. Then he pulled out a notebook from his drawer, the pages untouched, still smelling faintly of glue and fresh paper. He flipped it open.
"What's wrong with my mind?" he asked himself, pen hovering.
Screen addiction.
No focus.
I give in too easily.
"That's the pattern."
"That's the trap."
"That's me—at my worst."
He wrote it down. Not neatly. Not in calligraphy. Just enough to look like he meant it. To hold himself accountable.
"So what do I do?" he asked the silence.
"Break the bad habits. Replace them with better ones."
Simple words. Hard execution.
"What bad habits?" he listed aloud, fingers ticking each off like counting sins at confession.
"Junk food. Random meal times. No sleep schedule. Porn. Doom scrolling…"
He stopped. Swallowed.
"Too many to count."
"But they're mine."
"I made this mess."
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head, the wood creaking softly beneath his shifting weight.
"And the good ones?"
"One progressive action a day."
He let the thought settle like dust after a storm.
"I'll eliminate the bad—one by one. Add the good—bit by bit."
But still… doubt lingered, like a shadow at the edge of a flame.
"What if it's not enough?"
"What if I get complacent again?"
"What if I fall back?"
He sat forward, elbows on knees now, face in his hands. A long pause.
"Where do I even go from here?" he whispered.
"Where do I start?"
"I feel directionless."
"Like standing in a fog with no road signs."
He dropped his hands, face pale but calm. Not hopeless. Not yet. Just lost.
He reached for the pen again. This time, he wrote down two words, all in uppercase:
NEXT STEP
Then underneath, in smaller print:
No junk today.
Sleep before midnight.
Read 10 pages.
No phone past 10 PM.
He underlined it. Twice.
Rohit sat back in his chair, notebook still open, pen resting idle between his fingers. A soft ping broke the silence. His eyes flicked to the screen of his phone, still face-down on the table. He hesitated for a moment before flipping it over.
A message notification blinked on the lock screen.
Ajay sent a video.
Rohit stared at the name longer than he meant to.
"How long has it been?"
"A week?"
"No... more."
He tapped the screen, thumb hovering over the chat.
He hadn't replied to Ajay in days—maybe weeks. Always an excuse. Too tired. Not in the mood. "Later" had become his favourite lie. A safe lie.
He opened the chat. A short reel. Probably a meme. Rohit didn't bother to press play.
His thumb lingered over the screen, unsure.
"He's one of the few who checks in."
"And I keep shutting the door."
"Why?"
A breath left his lips. Shallow. Guilty.
Maybe…
Maybe he should call.
He stood up, walking to the window again. Phone to his ear now. The ringtone buzzed against his palm, and with every ring, a different voice whispered in his head.
"What if he's upset?"
"What if I've already pushed too far?"
"What if... this helps?"
Then: a click.
"Hello? Rohit, you rascal!" Ajay's voice burst through with the same energy it always had—unfiltered, loud, alive. "At last you remember me, huh?"
Rohit laughed despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He rubbed his forehead, leaning against the wall.
"Hey Ajay... I was just… busy," he replied, voice a little softer than he intended.
Ajay didn't miss a beat. "So, how're you doing, man?"
Rohit glanced at the floor, then out the window at a flock of birds taking off in the distance.
"Better than before," he said honestly.
"Good," Ajay replied. "I told you, you take things too seriously. Move on . Life isn't meant to be fought every single day."
Rohit's smile faded slightly.
He didn't want to talk about the past. Not now. Maybe not ever.
So he pivoted. "So where are you these days?"
"Rohtak," Ajay said. "What about you? You free today? Let's meet. It's been too long, man."
Rohit paused, tapping his fingers against the windowsill. The sky was pale blue outside, washed clean by the morning air. His chest felt... lighter.
"Yeah," he said. "Evening works."
"Perfect! I'll text you the spot."