FRACTURE

Securing 12th place out of 400 students and earning a GPA of 4.00 out of 5.00 in the final exam wasn’t enough for them. In their eyes, I have to rank at least in the top three and achieve a perfect GPA. That’s their expectation. (By the way, this final GPA was calculated keeping the GPAs from the previous three exams in mind.)

I saw the notice posted in our Facebook group and went to read it aloud to my father. I thought he would be happy to see that my merit position had improved since last time. But... I was a fool. What made me even think that? I still wonder.

"12,” I said. My father lowered his head as he sat on the edge of the bed. From the kitchen, my mother ran towards me and shouted, “What? 12?!” She rushed over, looked at my father, and said, “Did he just say 12?” Then she kept yelling, “I told you he doesn’t study. We’re just wasting our time."

She continued questioning me, and I answered quietly, keeping my voice calm, while my father remained seated in complete silence.

After a while, he said softly, "What am I doing? I’m only giving pain to my parents!"

The shouting continued for quite some time, even after I had left the room. I could still hear it—breaking through the walls before it broke into my ears.

My father looked even more devastated when he saw the notice asking us to pay the admission fee for the next academic year. It was 3,680 BDT, which is a lot for us.

My mother said, “What’s the point of paying all this money? He can’t even come first."

A few years ago, those words would’ve made me sad. But not anymore. I’ve grown used to it. Or perhaps I’m still getting used to it, little by little, as I continue living with them. But I don’t think any child should ever deserve to get used to something like this.