Chapter 25: The Weight of Dreams

Arjun stood outside Harvard Law School’s Langdell Library at 6 AM, watching early morning joggers circle the campus where he’d spent four years becoming someone he’d never wanted to be. His duffel bag held everything that mattered from his dorm room—which turned out to be almost nothing.

His phone buzzed with another call from his father. Fifteenth one since yesterday. He let it go to voicemail.

The campus looked smaller now, less intimidating. Students hurried past with their laptops and coffee cups, their faces carrying the particular strain of people optimizing their lives for outcomes they’d never questioned. Arjun recognized the expression—he’d worn it for four years.

A text from his study group: Dude where are you? Corporations exam is in 3 hours.

He typed back: Not taking it. Good luck.

Then he turned off his phone.

The walk to the registrar’s office felt like floating. For the first time in years, he wasn’t late for anything, wasn’t optimizing his route, wasn’t mentally rehearsing conversations or calculating how each decision would affect his class rank. He was just walking, feeling the morning air, noticing how different his body felt when it wasn’t carrying the weight of other people’s expectations.

“Mr. Patel?” The registrar, Mrs. Henderson, looked confused when he appeared at her desk. “I thought you were taking finals this week.”

“I was. I changed my mind.”

She pulled up his file on her computer, and Arjun saw his academic record reflected in her screen: Dean’s List every semester, Law Review, Moot Court honors, Summer associate position at Cooley & Bradley lined up for June. Four years of perfect performance leading to the exact future his parents had imagined.

“Are you sure about this? Your academic standing is excellent. You’re on track for graduation with honors.”

“I’m sure.”

“Can I ask why? Is this about financial aid? Family circumstances? We have resources if you’re experiencing difficulties—”

“No difficulties. I just realized I don’t want to be a lawyer.”

Mrs. Henderson stared at him like he’d announced he was moving to Mars. “But you’re so close to finishing. Just one more semester.”

“One more semester of preparing for a life I don’t want.”

She pulled out the withdrawal forms, but her movements were reluctant, like she was handling documents for someone making a terrible mistake. “You understand this will affect your financial aid? Your student loans will come due immediately?”

“I understand.”

“And your employment prospects? Law school graduates have many opportunities, but law school dropouts…”

“I’ll figure it out.”

The forms were surprisingly simple. Name, student ID, reason for withdrawal. He wrote “Personal reasons” and signed his name with the same pen he’d used to sign loan documents freshman year.

Walking out of the registrar’s office, Arjun felt like he was leaving his skin behind. The person who’d been Arjun Patel, future lawyer, top 10% of his class, perfect immigrant son—that person was still sitting in the office, trapped in paperwork and expectations.

The person walking across Harvard Yard was someone else entirely.

His phone buzzed with a voicemail from his father. Against his better judgment, he listened to it.

“Arjun, beta, please call me back. Your mother is very upset. We need to talk about this… this mistake you’re making. You can’t just throw away four years of education. Think about the family, beta. Think about everything we sacrificed so you could have these opportunities.”

The voicemail cut off, but Arjun could hear his father’s voice breaking.

He sat down on a bench outside the law library and called his parents back.

His mother answered on the first ring. “Arjun? Thank God. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Mom. I’m at Harvard. I just… I officially withdrew.”

Silence. Then the sound of his mother crying.

“Mom, please don’t—”

“How could you do this to us?” Her voice was raw. “After everything we gave up? Your father worked sixty-hour weeks so you could go to the best schools. I gave up my teaching career to support your education. We borrowed money, beta. We borrowed money against the house.”

The weight of their sacrifices pressed down on him like physical mass. Every late night his father had spent at the hospital, every social event his mother had skipped to save money, every conversation about how proud they were of their son the lawyer.

“I know, Mom. I know what you sacrificed. But I can’t live your dreams.”

“They’re not our dreams, they’re your opportunities! Opportunities we never had!”

“But I never wanted them.” The words came out quietly, but he knew they hit like a physical blow. “I never wanted to be a lawyer. I just wanted you to be proud of me.”

More silence. Then his father’s voice, having taken the phone from his mother.

“You want to know what would make us proud, beta? You finishing what you started. You honoring the sacrifices we made. You becoming the success we came to this country to create.”

“Dad—”

“Do you know what I gave up to become a doctor? I wanted to be a teacher. I loved literature, philosophy, helping people learn. But teachers don’t make enough money to support families, to send children to good schools. So I became a doctor because it was practical, because it was success.”

Arjun felt his chest tighten. “But you’re a good doctor.”

“I am. But I’m not happy, beta. I haven’t been happy in twenty years. And I told myself it was worth it because you and Priya would have the chances I never had. You would get to choose your lives.”

The conversation hung in the air between them, the weight of twenty-five years of sacrifice and dreams and misunderstanding.

“Dad, I am choosing my life. That’s what I’m doing.”

“By throwing away everything we built?”

“By refusing to throw away everything I am.”

Another silence. Then his father’s voice, smaller now: “What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out. And Dad? You could still be a teacher. You could still choose happiness. It’s not too late.”

“Arjun—”

“I have to go. I love you both. But I can’t carry your dreams anymore.”

He hung up and sat on the bench outside the law library, feeling the weight of four generations of sacrifice and ambition and misplaced love settling around him like snow.

But underneath that weight, something else was growing. Something that felt like his own life, finally ready to begin.

A text from Priya: Heard you dropped out. Dad’s freaking out. You okay?

He texted back: Better than I’ve been in years. Want to get coffee and talk about what comes next?

Yes. And Arjun? I’m proud of you.

For the first time in his life, that felt like enough.