Everyone laughed at him.
The torn shoes… the quiet voice… the empty lunchbox.
No one took him seriously. No one believed in him.
He was just a poor boy with big dreams… and in their eyes, that was a joke.
He lived in a small room with no electricity. At night, while others slept comfortably, he sat under a streetlight reading his books, fighting sleep, fighting hunger, fighting doubt.
People would pass by and shake their heads.
“What’s the point?” they’d say.
“People like him don’t make it.”