Untouchable Rebuilt

They didn’t just laugh at him. They enjoyed it. Every joke. Every whisper.

Every look that said: you’re nothing. Teachers called him “average.” Classmates called

him “waste.” At home, silence was louder than words. No one asked how

he was. No one noticed he was disappearing. One night, sitting alone in

the dark, he asked himself a dangerous question: What if I really don’t matter?

That night, something died. Fear. Hope. The need for approval.

From that day on, he stopped trying to be liked. He chose obsession over comfort.

Discipline over sleep. Pain over excuses. Months later, results were announced.