Of late, he had grown fond of looking into the mirror, not because he was a narcissist, but because it was the only way he found company. However, he hated the person on the other side today, because, over the past few days, it was the same dull face over and over again. His eyes, which once used to gleam with confidence, projected misery. His lower eyelids were swollen, and his upper eyelids were drooped, drowsily covering a portion of his reddish-veined sclera. The corners of his mouth were drawn down, and his hair was unkempt.

Fed up with the disquieting drama of the outside world, he had sealed himself within the four walls of his melancholic room. But the inside world turned more ruthless, which made him loathe himself. He had neither seen sunlight nor eaten any cooked food for almost a week. He realised it was time to redeem.

He went to the washroom to wash his face. After coming out of the washroom, he quickly scanned his room to take stock of things. The carpet was full of rampantly strewn clothes. The room was messy with paper shreds and emptied packets of chips and biscuits. The bed sheet was crumbled and exposed the dirty mattress underneath. A part of the ragged quilt, whose cover looked stained and unwashed for months, lay hideously on the floor.

He went near his bed and pulled a wrinkled t-shirt from one of its side drawers. A phone, plugged into a charging socket, vibrated near his pillow. He gave it a quick glance and chose to ignore the call. As he put on the t-shirt, he realised it didn’t smell good. So, he sprayed some perfume and smelt his armpits. “Better now,” he thought and finally went to slide the curtains open.

As the bright sun rays pierced the glass window, he felt a sudden glare in his eyes, and his eyelids abruptly shut. He opened his eyes slowly. As his eyes adjusted to the day’s brightness, his pupil constricted, and the dust gathered over the slats and rails of his bed became visible.

“Where the hell does this dust come from?” he muttered in annoyance and insanely started checking for small openings in the window.

“Dirt, dust, and garbage, everywhere, damn it!”

Frustrated, he sat on a chair and rested his arms on a bulky book that lay open on the table that overlooked the window. There was a huge stack of such books at the end of the table. He had already read all of the books.

Right beside his right arm lay an ashtray that contained several cigarette butts and a bottle, which he shook to see if it was empty.

He then took a deep breath, stood up, and reached to unplug his mobile. There was an SMS that read: ‘Son, we are so proud of you for graduating at the top of your class. We will be there on your convocation day.”

He didn’t immediately know what to think about it. Does it even matter whether the entire world is proud of you if you are not proud of yourself? Maybe yes, and maybe not. Perhaps, yes, when parents are your entire world.

A half smile appeared on his face as he placed the mobile phone inside his pocket and started walking towards his door. As he neared the door, his eyes caught the sight of a small note he had clipped at the door’s handle about a month ago. Affected by the note’s words, he turned around to glance at his room again.

He went straight towards the table, picked up the ashtray, and threw it out the window with all his strength. He wrapped the empty bottle with newspapers, took out a small hammer from a drawer, and started crushing the bottle, yelling, “No more booze, no more booze!”

He took a deep breath and took some time to recollect himself. He got up and disposed of the shattered bottle in a bin. He made his bed, wiped away the dust, and cleaned the rest of the room. Within a few minutes, the room looked good enough to present a façade of cleanliness, except for a pen under the table whose ink was oozing out of its nib. He picked up the pen, headed to the door, and started scribbling on the note. He then took a picture of the note and set it as his smartphone’s wallpaper.

He opened the door and stepped outside. Then, there was a momentary vibration inside his pocket. It was a text message that read, “I am so sorry for what I have done to you, Suyash. Will you please forgive me?”

He suddenly felt nauseous, but before he could reply to the text, he saw his smartphone’s wallpaper, which read ‘Minimise Entropy’. Suyash took a quick breath and closed his eyes. “Well, well, let me differentiate first,” he calmed himself down before he opened his eyes and walked away contemplatively to a place only a random-walk theorist could attempt to answer.

Parajuli is a student of aerospace engineering at IOE, Pulchowk Campus.