Behind every step

Ravi was a quiet boy who always sat on the last bench in his classroom. His classmates often teased him, not because he was shy, but because his clothes were old, and his lunch was plain. What they didn’t know was that his father, Ramesh, worked three jobs just to keep him in school.

One day, the teacher announced a school picnic. Everyone was excited, except Ravi. He went home silently, not wanting to burden his father with the picnic fee.

That night, Ramesh noticed Ravi was unusually quiet. After much asking, Ravi finally said, “It’s just a picnic, Papa. I don’t want to go.”

Ramesh smiled, ruffled his hair, and said, “Let me worry about that.”

The next morning, Ramesh left early. He didn’t return home that night. The following day, a neighbor came rushing to Ravi’s house. “He fainted at the construction site,” she said. “He hadn’t eaten all day.”

Ravi ran to the hospital, his eyes full of tears. When his father woke up, he smiled weakly and said, “Looks like I missed your picnic, champ.”

Ravi held his father’s rough hand and whispered, “I don’t want a picnic, Papa. I just want you to come home.”

From that day, Ravi studied harder than ever. Years later, he became an engineer. At his graduation ceremony, he invited only one guest—his father.

Ramesh sat in the front row. And for the first time, Ravi didn’t sit on the last bench. He stood on the stage—because of the man who once stood behind him, every time he fell.