Why Me?

BIRTHCRY1 ARC 1 : INTRODUCTION

Birth Cry 1: Chapter 5 – Why Me?

12 Years Later
Central District of Lindia, Green State – May 12, 2023

A different kind of struggle unfolded, far removed from the grand conspiracies of nations. Here, in a cramped textile shop, a young man named Sisu faced a battle of his own, one that was no less harrowing for its quiet, personal stakes.

Some thought monsters were born in blood.

But monsters are made in moments like this:

alone, staring at a screen that blinks *you are not enough*.

Sisu stared at the glowing screen, its cursor pulsing like a mocking heartbeat. The exam results seared into his eyes—numbers that crushed every 5:00 AM alarm, every tuition class, every fragile hope he and his mother had woven.

"Why... why me?" he whispered. His fingers trembled above the keyboard, voice splintering in the humid air. Monsoon rain hammered the tin roof, drowning the marketplace's noise—vendors’ cries, blaring horns.

But three voices, echoes from his fifth grade, roared louder inside his skull.

Back in fifth grade, Sisu was always alone. Shunned for his weight, he found no friends in the crowded schoolyard, so he crafted his own companions in the quiet corners of his mind.

The first was Genuine One, a kind and steadfast voice who became his confidant.

In sixth grade, another presence emerged, responding to Genuine One during their conversations. At first, Sisu was puzzled, asking Genuine One who this stranger was, but even Genuine One didn’t know. The new voice joined their discussions, offering calm insights whenever Sisu felt low. He named it Quiet One, for it spoke softly, lifting him in his darkest moments.

By eighth grade, a third voice appeared—uninvited, sharp, and cruel. It mocked Genuine One and Quiet One with bitter truths, its words cutting like a blade. Sisu called it Sharp Tongue, for its honesty stung but often rang true.

In tenth grade, he created a girl—just like the others who lived in his mind. Everyone at school seemed happier when they had girlfriends, and even his friends looked somehow better because of it. So, he made one for himself.

At first, she spoke to him kindly, just like any real girl would. But Sharp Tongue never stopped mocking her, twisting her words and sneering at her presence. Eventually, she slipped away from Sisu’s mind without his knowing, and in time, he completely forgot she had ever existed.On May 15th, his marks locked him out of the AI course at MKCE, a college he had once vowed never to attend.

"No one should spend so much money on my education, especially for this college. I would study and crack the entrance exams of big universities," he’d told his parents years ago. His voice had been steady then.

Now, even MKCE's low-tier gates demanded fees his debt-choked family couldn’t pay.

On July 3, 2023, his first day at college was a haze of isolation. Corridors slick with the echoes of strangers' laughter. Sisu slipped inside, praying to remain unseen.

A teacher asked the students to write about the college, why they had chosen it. Sisu scribbled meaningless lines, his ink as hollow as his courage.

Another professor called for introductions. Students rose, voices bold, futures gleaming. Then Sisu stood. Legs trembling. Chest tight.

Words fractured. Stammered.

Laughter rippled—soft, but sharp.

He returned to his bench and realized a truth etched into his skin: I am a stammerer. Not a thought. A fact.

The voices returned.

You did it wrong, Quiet One calculated, its logical tone cold as steel. You could’ve done better, Genuine One sighed, its sincere ache a plea for truth.

Here’s your reward: a medal and certificate… officially a stammerer now, Sharp Tongue sneered, its cynical bite slicing through his shame.

And yet, Sisu’s kindness—sharing notes, offering shy smiles—earned quiet respect. After the bridge course, he haunted the AI department, clinging to structure.

One evening, beneath flickering shop lights, he faced his parents.

"I want to change my course," he stammered. "AI is too expensive. We chose this college only for placements. Even civil students can sit for placement drives. We’re already drowning in debt. So, please... let me switch to civil."

His father's eyes flared.

"You were the one excited about AI. Now you're backing out?"

Sisu couldn’t bring himself to meet his father’s eyes. He just walked home in silence.

That night, Sisu overheard their whispers and understood that their debt was heavier than the monsoon rain.

The next morning, his mother asked gently, "Can you study this course or not?"

He hesitated. The marks still mocked him.

"Not with my marks. I don’t even belong in this course."

His father’s voice steadied. "Don’t worry about the money. I’ll borrow it. Just tell me—can you study it?"

After a pause, Sisu nodded. "Yes. I can."

Time bled on.

In school, Sisu had chased football dreams in a weekend academy. Grass underfoot. Heart alive. A 10th-grade ACL injury stole it all.

Before joining the same college, he tried again. A college team selection—if he got selected, half of the fees would be reduced under the sports scholarship. So he pushed himself to participate. Only four showed up. He gave everything. Kicks sharp. Hope flickering.

After the selection ended, the PT sir asked, "What course are you joining?"

"AIDS," Sisu replied. (AI and Data Science.)

The PT frowned. “They changed the rules,” he muttered. “No selections for AI and Data Science Department. Only Civil and Mechanical—that’s what they told us.”

"But the invitation poster said all courses were eligible!" Sisu protested.

"Ask the management. Don’t shout. Leave."

After joining the college, he trained for four days after the bridge course. On the fifth, his body faltered. Passes missed. Legs heavy. Teammates shouting.

"I can’t see the ball properly. My eyesight's bad," he lied.

Run like a dog beaten by its owner! screamed Sharp Tongue.

You tried. Let that be enough, whispered Genuine One.

He left. The field became a grave for his pride.

Later, he learned the family’s debt was eight times worse than he’d feared.

Desperate, he turned to FTT—an app hyped on Telegram for quick profits.

He begged his father for a small investment. Early wins sparked hope.

This is it, he thought. I can pay my fees. I can stand on my own.

Then losses came like monsoon floods. Stress tore him apart. Bald patches bloomed. Classmates laughed. He collapsed, a husk beneath the storm.

Days came and went like they were on fast-forward. Then, a senior called. "Come to the state-level selection."

Sisu went. Gave everything. Got selected. Pride flickered.

Then died.

The next morning, a swelling pulsed on his thigh. Google gave it a name: cancer.

Numbness swallowed him whole.

That week, a news broadcast pierced the haze. A shop’s TV buzzed.

Nehran: chaos. Twelve years after the Hiranian President’s assassination. Unknown terrorist cell. Faces on screen.

Then another: A young man in KR district murdered by members of the ***** caste for loving a girl. No one helped. They filmed it.

Sisu froze.

A friend from the same dominant caste had once confessed, "Our people are monsters. They even killed a Woman Sub-Inspector—stabbed her from behind. Five men."

"A police officer?!" Sisu gasped. "Five men?!"

That caste ruled JKCE. Colored wristbands. Silent threats.

Yet some were kind. Never mocking. Never cruel. Just... human.

Sisu stood in silence, a thousand cracks running through him.