The Boy Who Dreamed of Everything, But Did Nothing

The alarm rang at 6:30 a.m.

Haruto didn’t move.

He blindly turned it off and mumbled, his voice buried in the pillow:

When he finally opened his eyes, the sun was already hitting his face.He sat on the bed, disheveled, with an empty gaze, as if he were half-dreaming. 

He looked at the ceiling and said in a low voice, almost like a ritual:—Today I will… today I will change.

He said it every morning. He said it every morning and every night, like a broken promise on repeat. He imagined himself waking up early, running, training, studying, getting in shape, becoming someone people talked about. He imagined himself a millionaire, famous, in history.

But there he was: stuck to the bed, wearing yesterday’s t-shirt, and his school uniform waiting for him on the chair, as if it were a guard telling him “let’s see if you dare today.” 

From the kitchen, his sister’s voice interrupted his trance: —Haruto! Are you going to school or are you going to turn into furniture?  

—Aya yelled as always, half-joking, half-scolding.

Haruto sighed.—I’m coming… I’m coming…But he didn’t move.

He picked up his phone, checked the group chat:

[Souta]: “Game after class today, coming?”

[Kazu]: “Pff, Haruto’s not going. Haruto never goes.”

[Souta]: “I bet you a thousand yen he’s late or absent.”

Haruto clenched his teeth.—Idiots…

The worst part was, they were right.With an almost artistic slowness, he got dressed, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and went down to the kitchen. 

Hiroki, his older brother, was already there, impeccable in his work shirt, coffee in hand.—Late again? —Hiroki asked without looking at him, sliding his finger across his phone screen.

—It’s not that late —Haruto replied, pouring himself milk as if saying “good morning.”

Aya looked at him, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.—I don’t know how you plan on becoming a millionaire if you can’t even get out of bed on the first try.Her words fell like a stone on his chest. Aya didn’t say it to hurt him, but it hurt just the same.

Because Aya didn’t know that, every night, Haruto watched videos of millionaires on YouTube, motivational podcasts, TED talks that spoke of “owning your life.” He imagined buying a huge house for his grandmother, for his family, for himself.He dreamed of greatness.But, in the morning, he never did anything.He half-ate breakfast, grabbed his bicycle, and pedaled out reluctantly. The cold morning air woke him up a little. He looked at the sky, clean blue, and a small smile escaped.

—Someday… —he murmured— someday I’m going to be someone who changes everything. 

But a voice in his head whispered:Really? If you couldn’t even get up on the first try…That voice stayed with him until he reached school.

The first class of the day was math.

Haruto entered the classroom almost halfway through, his uniform askew. The teacher just raised an eyebrow.

—You’re late again, Haruto.He smiled uncomfortably.

—Traffic, sensei.

There was no traffic. There was bed.He sat in the back, next to Kazu, one of his closest friends. Kazu was the kind of friend who spent all night playing video games and slept in class. He had the same habits as Haruto, but without the ambitions.

—I told you you wouldn’t be on time —Kazu said with a mocking grin.

—Shut up —Haruto replied, slumping onto his desk.From the other side, Souta, the captain of the soccer team, gave him a look.

—Hey, Haruto, are you coming to the game today? We need players.Haruto was silent for a few seconds. 

He wanted to say “yes.” He wanted to get out of that chair, go to practice, run, sweat, feel like he was doing something with his life.

But what came out was:—I don’t know… I have things to do.

A lie. He had nothing to do.He just knew he’d probably go home, lie down, and stare at the ceiling.The final bell rang and the hallways filled with noise. Haruto left in silence. He didn’t go with Kazu or Souta. He took his bicycle and pedaled slowly to his grandparents’ house.It was a habit to go see his grandmother after classes.He entered, left his backpack on the floor, and found her in the kitchen, serving tea.

—Hello, Haruto —she said, with that soft voice that had always calmed him as a child.He raised his hand in a loose greeting.

—Hello.His grandmother looked at him with tired eyes. She looked thinner, more fragile than before. She was sitting in a chair, as if the mere act of standing exhausted her.And something inside Haruto stirred.

He had always seen his grandmother as a wall: strong, indestructible, the woman who pampered and hugged him, who told him everything would be okay.But now… seeing her so weak disconcerted him.He didn’t know how to deal with that image.

—How was school? —she asked, smiling.

Haruto looked at her, swallowed.—Good… —he replied. And grabbed his phone.He spent the next few minutes looking at the screen, pretending to be busy. 

His grandmother watched him in silence, saying nothing, but her eyes seemed sad.Haruto wanted to talk. He wanted to tell her what he felt, what he dreamed, what hurt him.But he couldn’t.Something in his chest blocked him. And so, he chose to be silent.When night fell and he returned home, Haruto lay down on his bed.He looked at the ceiling again. He thought about being a millionaire. About changing the world.And he also thought about how tired he was… without having done anything.He closed his eyes, murmuring softly:—Tomorrow I will. Tomorrow I will change.But even he wasn’t sure he believed it.