The last leaf from the neem tree fell. It didn’t drift far, landing quietly next to my grandfather’s grave as if it, too, was tethered to the weight of unfinished stories. I stood there, watching it settle on the cracked soil, wondering when exactly things began to fall apart. Not at the grave, not at the funeral, but long before. It’s never the obvious moments that break you; it’s the ones that happen when no one’s looking.

Memory has a way of dragging you back without permission. One second I was standing over his grave, the next I was back in my 12th grade classroom, surrounded by old walls and familiar failures. It felt too real. The chalk dust in the air, the endless lectures I never listened to, the sinking feeling of knowing I was falling behind but pretending it didn’t matter. At home, I found myself reliving the moment I was told my grandfather had cancer. Things moved quickly after that. Too quickly for me to process. One moment I was holding back tears, the next I was walking across a stage at graduation, a certificate in my hand that felt more like a burden than an achievement.

I made promises, of course. We all do when someone dies. Promises to change, to be better, to make them proud. I made them to him, to myself, to whatever gods might be listening. But promises are just words, and words decay faster than the dead. I couldn’t change. No matter how many times I told myself I would. I couldn’t break free of the guilt, the regret, the invisible chains that tied me to the past. I told myself I was depressed, and maybe I was. Or maybe I used the word as a shield, an excuse to hide behind whenever life got too heavy.

I dropped out. I walked away from the college I never really belonged to. And that’s when I heard it—the ticking. It wasn’t from a clock or a watch. It was inside me, buried deep, growing louder every time I tried to pretend everything was fine. It followed me into every tense moment, every sleepless night, every breath I took that felt more like survival than living.

The ticking never stopped.