THE COST OF A DREAM

The afternoon sun rested gently over the small courtyard of Rita’s childhood home, turning the dust in the air into floating specks of gold. The house stood in a large, posh colony in a modest city in northern India, surrounded by beautiful homes, where neighbors knew one another’s stories and dreams traveled faster than bicycles.

Rita, wearing her red frock, sat cross-legged on the cool cement of the front porch, a wooden mat beneath her, with her school notebook open on her lap. Her braid fell over one shoulder as she tapped her pencil thoughtfully against her cheek. Her younger sisters, wearing beautiful pink frocks, were sitting beside her, quietly doing their homework. Inside the house, the aroma of cumin, mustard seeds and curry leaves crackling in oil drifted outward. Her mother, wearing a dark green saree, was softly chanting “Hare Ram, Hare Krishna” in the kitchen. Her father had already left for work, since his workplace was far away from their home. Somewhere down the street, a fruit vendor called out, “Aam le lo! Fresh mangoes!”

Beside Rita, her grandfather, Baba, sat on a chair, wrapped in his simple white kurta and pajama, his reading glasses perched low on his nose. His presence felt steady, like a tree that had seen many seasons and remained unshaken. “Beta, what are you writing so seriously?” he asked, his voice warm and curious. Rita looked up. “Baba, it’s an essay for school. The topic is ‘A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed.’” He smiled, leaning back slightly. “Ah. And what have you written so far?” Rita hesitated. “That friends should be kind… and share things.”

Baba chuckled softly. “That is a good beginning. But kindness is tested when it costs something.” Rita’s pencil paused mid-air. “Costs something?” “Yes,” he said gently. “Anyone can sit beside you when you are laughing. But who sits beside you when you are crying? And tell me, will you sit beside someone when they are struggling… even if others walk away?” The question settled into her young heart like a seed.

Baba continued, his eyes softening. “And remember this, Rita… God does not live only in temples. He lives in every human being. When you help someone, you serve Him.” Rita stared at her notebook. Her essay no longer felt like homework. It felt like a responsibility. She began writing again… this time slowly, carefully… as though her words mattered. Rita did not fully understand his words that day, but they stayed in her heart. A small seed was planted… a seed of kindness and service.

Years later, Rita met Vibha on the first day of twelfth grade. Vibha had large expressive eyes and carried her books pressed tightly against her chest, as though protecting them. She was shy at first, but when she spoke about her favorite subject, civics, her voice grew animated.

“I want to become a district magistrate one day,” Vibha whispered during lunch break, her eyes shining. “Imagine, Rita, helping women, stopping injustice, making decisions that matter.” Rita admired her confidence. “You will,” she said firmly. “You always come first in class.” Vibha laughed softly. “Marks are one thing. Convincing parents is another.” At the time, Rita did not fully understand.

Months passed. The two girls studied together, shared lunch, and whispered about futures that felt wide and limitless. Then one afternoon, Rita noticed Vibha sitting alone behind the school building, her shoulders trembling. “Vibha?” Rita approached slowly. “What happened?” Vibha wiped her face quickly. “Nothing.” “Don’t lie,” Rita said gently, sitting beside her. 

There was silence. Then Vibha’s voice broke. “They are looking for a groom.” Rita’s heart skipped. “Now? You are only seventeen.” “My grandmother says too much education makes it hard to find a husband. They think I’ve studied enough.” “But your dream…”

Vibha stared ahead, her voice hollow. “Dreams don’t matter if society doesn’t approve.” Rita felt something ignite inside her, a mix of anger and helplessness. “Can’t you talk to your parents?” “They say this is for my own good.” Vibha’s eyes filled with tears again. “Rita… what if this is it? What if this is all I get?” Rita did not know how to answer.

Weeks later, Vibha stopped coming to school. Six months after graduation, Rita heard the news: Vibha was married. No district magistrate. No university. Just silence where ambition once lived.

That evening, Rita sat alone on the same porch beside Baba. “Baba,” she said quietly, “why do girls have to give up their dreams?” Baba sighed. “Because sometimes fear speaks louder than hope.” Rita stared into the fading light. In that moment, she made a promise… not aloud, not dramatically… but deeply and firmly: If life ever gives me a chance, I will not waste it. 

Years later, when Rita stood in front of her first classroom as a young teacher, she felt Vibha beside her… not physically, but in spirit.

Every time she encouraged a shy student to speak… Every time she told a girl, “You are capable”… Every time she stayed after school to help someone understand a lesson… She thought of Vibha.

Teaching was not just a profession. It was resistance. It was quiet revolution. It was her way of honoring the dream her friend never got to live. Her students loved her because she saw them, truly saw them,  especially the girls who doubted themselves. One afternoon, a student asked, “Ma’am, why do you care so much?” Rita smiled. “Because education changes destiny.” For a while, she believed she had fulfilled her promise.

But life, as she would later learn, does not always allow dreams to remain simple.

Marriage entered Rita’s life gently, like the beginning of a hopeful season. Her husband, Rohan was thoughtful, steady, and respectful in ways that made her feel seen. He listened when she spoke about her classroom stories, smiled when she described her students’ progress, and never dismissed her ambition. With him, Rita felt companionship…not control. She believed she had chosen wisely.

But marriage did not come alone. It arrived holding another reality in its hand: migration.

Soon after her marriage, she packed her books, memories, and dreams into suitcases and moved to a new country, America, with her husband. The familiar classrooms were replaced by unfamiliar streets, new rules, and a different world. Everything felt different: the language, the system, and the people. Slowly, her life began to change in ways she had never imagined.

Initially, because of visa rules, Rita was not allowed to work, and her teaching career suddenly stopped. 

When neighbors asked casually, “Do you work?” she would smile and reply, “Not yet.” The “yet” held hope, but it also held uncertainty. She could not answer when that “yet” would turn into “now.” Then life shifted again. Rita became pregnant.

Motherhood arrived like a new universe, overwhelming, tender, exhausting, beautiful. When she first held her daughter in her arms, all other questions quieted. The baby’s tiny fingers wrapped around hers, and in that moment, purpose felt immediate and undeniable.

Soon her days filled with feedings, diaper changes, lullabies, and sleepless nights. The apartment no longer felt empty; it echoed with soft cries and small giggles. Rita poured herself completely into motherhood, determined to give her child opportunities she herself had fought for.

“If I cannot teach a classroom right now,” she whispered one night while rocking the baby, “I will teach you.”

Years passed quickly. Another child was born. The house grew livelier, noisier, fuller. Toys scattered across floors. Crayons left colorful marks on scrap paper. Rita became the center of her children’s world, homework helper, storyteller, disciplinarian, comforter.

Once in a while, she would open a drawer and look at her teaching certificates and degrees. She would hold them in her hands and wonder how her life had changed so much. Living in a new country without family support was not easy. At times, she felt alone and carried the silent weight of isolation.

As her children grew and began attending school, Rita felt the old ache return, not out of dissatisfaction, but longing. When she walked them to class and heard the bell ring, something inside her responded instinctively. She imagined standing at the front of a classroom again, explaining lessons, guiding discussions, shaping young minds.

One afternoon, after returning home from dropping her daughter at kindergarten, Rita stood alone in the kitchen longer than necessary. The silence felt different now, not heavy with isolation, but heavy with possibility.

She realized something clearly: the pause had lasted years. And she had accepted it quietly. Rohan noticed the shift in her mood. One evening, as they sat together after dinner, he asked gently, “Are you thinking about teaching again?” Rita looked up, surprised. “How did you know?” “You light up when you talk about schools,” he said with a small smile. She hesitated. “It won’t be easy here. I may need more education. Exams. Certification. I’m not sure if I can manage everything.” Rohan leaned back thoughtfully. “You managed migration. You managed two children. You managed everything else. Why not this?” His words did not feel like pressure. They felt like permission.

The next morning, she opened her laptop and began researching requirements to teach in America. The list was long: additional coursework, licensing exams, and evaluations of foreign credentials. It was daunting. She stared at the screen for a long moment. Then she whispered to herself, “I didn’t come this far to disappear.”

The pause that had once felt imposed now transformed into preparation. She had raised her children through their earliest years. She had adjusted to a new country. She had survived loneliness without bitterness. Perhaps the pause had strengthened her in ways she had not recognized. As she printed out the list of requirements, Rita understood something else too: stepping forward again would require sacrifice.

But Rita was determined. Even though she was in her 40s and facing some health problems, she chose to face the challenge bravely. She worked hard every single day, spending eight to ten hours at her job, taking care of her family in the evening, and studying late into the night. Most nights, she slept only three or four hours, but she kept going because she believed in her dream.

One evening, as Rita sat at her desk surrounded by books, she sighed deeply and asked herself, “Is this worth it? Am I doing the right thing?”

But she quickly shook off the doubt. “I’ve always wanted to be a teacher,” she reminded herself. “I’ve worked so hard to get here. I can’t give up now.”

Over time, the pressure began to affect Rita’s health. She developed high blood pressure, constant headaches, and severe acid reflux. Despite taking medication, her blood pressure remained very high, her headaches persisted, and the acid reflux severely damaged her gastrointestinal system, and she was unable to swallow anything easily. Still, she kept pushing forward.

At the same time, Rita was joyfully preparing for her daughter’s twelfth birthday, which was just a few days away. She thoughtfully designed and sent out e-invitations to the parents, planning every detail well in advance. She bought craft supplies and organized fun games, wanting the celebration at home to feel both special and memorable. The date was circled on the calendar, and she had already picked out a beautiful dress for her daughter to wear on her big day. Deep within her, Rita longed to be fully present for her family… yet her busy life left her with very little time to truly pause and enjoy these precious moments.

“Just a few more years,” she told herself. “Once I’ve settled into my career, everything will be fine. I’ll have time to rest and enjoy life with my family.”

Her teaching job was extremely demanding. Rita spent long hours at school and even more time at home preparing lessons, grading assignments, and studying. Gradually, Rita realized that teaching in America was not simply a continuation of what she had known in India. The curriculum was different. The technology was advanced. Expectations were layered with paperwork, documentation, assessments, performance evaluations, and parent communication systems that never seemed to sleep. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to show that immigration had not diminished her. She wanted to show that she belonged. So she worked.

She arrived at school early, often before sunrise. She stayed late, long after the hallways emptied. At home, after dinner and helping her children with homework, she opened her laptop again, planning lessons, grading assignments, and answering emails from parents. “I just need to settle in,” she told herself. “Once I understand everything, it will get easier.” But easier never came. Instead, responsibility expanded. She volunteered for additional committees. She redesigned lessons repeatedly to ensure they were perfect. She attended professional development workshops on weekends. She rewrote lesson plans at midnight because they did not feel good enough. She rarely had time for herself or her family. Her husband and children missed her presence, but Rita believed that sacrificing now would lead to a better future for them all.

“I’m doing this for us,” she would say to her husband when he expressed concern about her health. “Just wait a little longer.”

Late at night, as Rita sat surrounded by unfinished lesson plans and graded papers, a quiet fear rose in her heart. She had worked so hard for this dream for so many years. Teaching was not just a job to her; it was part of who she was. Deep down, she wondered, “If I stop now, will anyone remember the real Rita… the one who always believed in learning and helping others grow? Or will they only see someone who gave up halfway?” The thought frightened her more than the long hours and sleepless nights. She did not want her story to end with the word “quit.”

One day, something completely unexpected happened. After another long and exhausting day, Rita lay down to rest. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her chest. Before she could call out for help, everything went dark.

Rita suffered a heart attack and passed away that very night. Her family was shattered. Her children cried endlessly for their mother, and her husband could not believe she was truly gone. The house felt silent and empty without her warmth and loving presence.

The children kept thinking about the birthday party she had lovingly planned for one of them. Every small detail had been arranged with care. But now, without her, there would be no celebration. For many days, they could not stop their tears. Life felt incomplete and painfully empty without their mother. But Rita’s story didn’t end there. After her death, she found herself as a soul, floating in a space filled with light and peace. She looked back on her life with mixed emotions. She had achieved her dream of becoming a teacher, but at what cost?

“If I could go back,” Rita thought to herself, “what would I do differently?”

She reflected deeply. “I wanted so badly to be a teacher,” she said aloud. “But I forgot something important along the way: life is not just about work or achieving goals. It’s about spending time with the people we love and cherishing the moments we are given.” Rita thought about all the times she had promised herself that things would get better “later.” She realized now that there might not always be a “later.” Life is unpredictable, and no one knows how much time they have.

“If I could speak to others,” Rita said softly, “I would tell them this: Follow your passion, yes. Work hard for your dreams, yes. But don’t forget to live your life along the way. Spend time with your family and friends. Take care of your health. Enjoy the little moments that make life beautiful.”

She smiled sadly as she thought of her children and husband. “I hope they know how much I loved them,” she whispered.

As Rita’s soul drifted into the light, she felt peace. Her story became a lesson for others. It brought awareness… and awareness is the beginning of change. Vibha’s message stayed in everyone’s heart: dreams are important, but not more important than your health, happiness, and loved ones. 

The Cost of a Dream reminds us to follow our dreams without losing ourselves. Life is not a race; it is a journey, and the most important part is not just reaching the destination, but enjoying the ride with the people who matter most.