It was a sunny and bright morning — the kind of morning that should promise hope, yet it felt no different from the heavy, uncertain ones before it. The kind of morning where the sky mocks you with its brightness while you are shackled to your darkest thoughts. For me, it was just another day battling against the odds, struggling to push through the weight of expectations, the invisible horror of failure, and the silent screams of a life not yet lived.
I had long grown used to this silent war — the daily grind of job-hunting, trying desperately to rewrite the story I was born into. All I wanted was a meaningful life — not just for me, but for my mother, my rock. The woman who stitched pieces of herself into me so I could stay whole. I couldn't bear the thought of her sacrifices going in vain.
Then there was Rihanat — my fiancé, my childhood friend, and the woman who believed in me more than I ever did in myself. Through every fall, every door slammed in my face, she stood there — fierce, unwavering — reminding me that I was meant for something greater, that I was not the sum of my rejections.
I hadn't even graduated yet. But in our society, if you don't land a job before that final handshake with your degree, you're tossed into a pit of desperation — a faceless nobody among thousands. So this interview… this one… wasn't just an appointment. It was my last lifeline. And today, I was ready. Armed with hope, prayers, and the faith of the two women who mattered most to me, I took my heels and set off to the interview.
The sun continued to blaze overhead, mocking me with its cheerfulness, as it continued mocking me that it was just another morning, another desperate attempt to claw my way out of this suffocating cycle of job rejections. My mother's voice still echoed in my ears from our call minutes ago—her hopeful tone, her unwavering belief in me. "You'll make us proud, son. This job is yours," made me feel untouchable.
After a powerful call from my mother — filled with blessings that lifted my spirit to the heavens — and a second one from Rihanat that made me feel invincible, I walked out the door certain that today would be different. I needed it to be.
I clenched my fists as I say to myself that this interview wasn't just another chance—it was the chance. The one I'd spent sleepless nights preparing for. The one that would finally pull my mother out of her crumbling apartment and secure Rihanat the future she deserved. And as such, failure was was not an option.
The interview center loomed ahead, but my path cut across the steel skeleton of the city's oldest bridge. Below the bridge was a river, with a wild roar, like a hungry beast waiting to swallow anything foolish enough to fall.
As I crossed the bridge almost nearing the interview center, something caught my eye — a figure teetering at the edge. A woman—young, maybe my age or a bit older—perched on the railing, her body swaying dangerously, and her eyes were hollow, as if life had already left them. It was unusual to come across such circumstances, especially at that hour of the morning. My guts were right, but how could I slow it down or probably, stop it from happening.
My breath hitched as she tried letting herself down to the concretes beside the river.
She's going to jump.
I sprinted, my polished shoes slipping on the pavement. "Wait—stop!"
But time warped. Her fingers uncurled from the railing.
A scream tore through the air—mine or hers, I couldn't tell. Then the impact.
My pace slowed but time didn't. The sound of her body hitting the concrete was a sickening crack that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Gasps cut through the air like knives. The world around me froze — not in shock, but in cold, calculated apathy. Phones emerged like weapons — eyes glued to screens, not the tragedy unfolding. No one moved. No one screamed, except me.
The bridge erupted in chaos—not of people rushing to help, but of phones lifting, cameras zooming, voices murmuring in morbid fascination.
"Did you get it?"
"Oh my God, she actually jumped!"
Disgust twisted my gut. I vaulted over the railing, skidding down the embankment to where she lay broken. When I reached her, she was still breathing — barely. My suit soaked with her blood. Her fingers twitching yet curled around my jacket, clinging not just to fabric but to a life she wasn't ready to leave. Her eyes begged for another chance.
Her lips moved.
"…help…"
I cradled her, affirming positively to her. "Stay with me! The ambulance is coming!"
But her grip on my jacket tightened—then slackened.
Her last breath fogged my watch as I watch her liveless body hunching in my arms. She died in my arms. I don't remember how long I sat there. Her grip still haunted my skin. Her last breath echoed in my ears like a curse. Eventually, the paramedics arrived — too late to save her, but just in time to clean up what was left.
I was no longer the confident young man marching to his destiny. I was a ghost — a shell. Shaking and covered in blood, I stumbled into the interview hall almost an hour late. The receptionist's smile died as soon as she saw me.
"What in God's name—?"
"I—there was an accident—" I stammered.
But the interviewer, a sharp-faced man in a too-tight tie,almost with no remorse, only glared then said, "Sit."
My name was called. Once, twice, three times, but I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. The moment kept replaying — the jump, the fall, the eyes, I was drowning. The interview had already began yet it felt like I was not there.
"Where do you see yourself in five years?" the interviewer droned.
Dead on the pavement, my hands wouldn't stop trembling and my voice had already abandoned me.
The interviewer sighed. "Clearly, you're not prepared."
By the time I came back to myself, it was over. The door had closed. The chance was gone. And just like that, everything unraveled. Rejection stung, but what came after was worse.
Despite graduating top of my class — not just in my department, but the entire university — the world no longer had space for me. The promising future I'd worked for all my life faded into a grey haze of student loans, dead-end jobs, and community debts that strangled every ounce of freedom I had.
People started whispering: "Isn't that the guy who was supposed to be something?"
The star student. The one with all the brains but none of the lucks of life instore for him. And so I became a cautionary tale.
While my peers climbed ladders and collected milestones, I was juggling part-time jobs to keep the lights on and help my mother, who still smiled like I was her greatest achievement. That smile cut deeper than any failure.
I kept applying, hundreds of applications, dozens of interviews, all of them ending the same way — silence or rejection. Yet, after every failure, I still whispered to myself: "It'll work out. One day."
But until when?
When does hope stop being noble and start becoming delusion?
Every morning, I wake up and wonder if today is the day everything changes — or just another page in the story of a man whose brightest moment passed him by on a bridge, holding the hand of a stranger who reminded him that life, no matter how fragile, is still worth fighting for.
Maybe that's the reason I still keep going.
Maybe that's the only reason I still believe.