You step inside the house, feeling the weight of the day’s disappointment hanging heavy. The final exam results were in, and you were top 5—an achievement that should’ve been celebrated. But when you shared the news with your parents, their faces were unreadable. “Top 5?” your mother said, glancing up from her work. “That’s good, but it’s not great. Your sibling was always top 1.”

Your father didn’t even lift his eyes from his phone. “You know what’s expected of you. Top 1 next time.”

The words cut deeper than you expected, especially when they told you to stay home during the Christmas gathering. "Focus on your studies," your mother added, as if your efforts had never mattered enough.

You tried to swallow the ache in your throat but couldn’t. At home, there were no warm congratulations, no proud smiles. Just expectations. Just silence. The next day, you walked to school with your head down, the weight of your family's words echoing in your mind. You felt small, like all the effort you’d put in had been for nothing. If you’d just tried harder, worked longer. Maybe then you would’ve been enough.

Later, you opened your locker, expecting nothing but the usual textbooks and notes. But there, nestled among your things, was a cake. Confused, you pulled it out, and that’s when you saw Alex, your academic rival, standing a few feet away. His shirt was smeared with cream, and flour dusted his hands. “Looks like someone cared enough to congratulate you,” he said, a smirk on his face.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was tinged with sadness. "You didn’t have to do this," you said, your voice quieter than you meant.

Alex shrugged. “Maybe you needed it more than anyone. You’re top 5, after all. Doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”

For the first time that week, you felt something warm inside—someone saw you for who you were, not what you could be.