My Mother’s Prince - The Loud Ones Carry Quiet Stories Too - Part 25
The Loud Ones Carry Quiet Stories Too
The training days started falling into a rhythm.
Morning sessions.
Group discussions.
Case studies.
Canteen food reviews by Raghav.
“Today’s dal is emotional,” Raghav announced during lunch.
“What does that even mean?” Kavya asked.
“It looks like it cried before reaching the plate.”
Even Sameer laughed.
That evening, after dinner, he walked back to the hostel building.
The campus lights were soft.
Cool breeze.
The kind of evening that makes people think about home.
His phone rang.
Amma.
He answered immediately.
“Hello.”
Her voice sounded normal.
But softer.
“Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
“Food good?”
“Yes.”
“Room clean?”
“Yes.”
Three questions.
Standard mother protocol.
But something felt different.
“Amma… everything okay?”
A small pause.
“Hmm.”
That “hmm” carried too many things.
“Tell me.”
She hesitated.
“Electricity problem in the house today.”
“What happened?”
“Fuse issue.”
“Fixed?”
“Yes… neighbor helped.”
He felt a strange heaviness in his chest.
Normally he would have handled these small things.
Now he was hundreds of kilometers away.
“You should have called me,” he said.
“For fuse?”
“Yes.”
She laughed softly.
“My prince is in leadership training. I cannot disturb national development.”
He smiled.
But the worry stayed.
“Are you managing everything?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Then she added gently,
“You focus there. I am strong here.”
After the call ended, he sat quietly on a bench outside the hostel.
For the first time since arriving here…
He felt the distance clearly.
Not emotional distance.
Just physical distance.
The kind that makes small problems feel bigger.
Raghav suddenly appeared with two cups of tea.
“You look like someone stole your dessert.”
He handed him a cup.
“What happened?”
“Just thinking about home.”
Raghav nodded.
“Ah.”
They sat quietly for a moment.
Then Raghav said something unexpected.
“You know… I used to call home every day too.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah.”
“What changed?”
Raghav stared at the tea cup.
“My father passed away three years ago.”
He looked at him, surprised.
Raghav rarely spoke seriously.
“It happened suddenly,” Raghav continued.
“Heart attack.”
“I was in another city… training program like this.”
Silence settled between them.
“I reached home two days later,” Raghav said softly.
“And for a long time… I felt guilty.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t there.”
He didn’t know what to say.
Some pains cannot be solved with words.
Raghav took a deep breath and smiled again.
“That’s why I talk so much.”
“To avoid thinking too much.”
He nodded slowly.
People really were complicated.
The loudest person in the room…
Was also carrying the heaviest memory.
Raghav looked at him.
“You’re lucky.”
“Why?”
“You still have your mother waiting at home.”
He thought about that.
Yes.
He was lucky.
Very lucky.
“Call her often,” Raghav added.
“Even if nothing important.”
He nodded.
“I will.”
Then Raghav suddenly changed tone.
“And next time when she sends food box… please share.”
“There it is.”
“Emotional story over. Food topic resumed.”
Later that night, he sent a message to his mother.
“Take care of yourself.”
She replied:
“Always.”
Then another message came.
“Did you eat the food box fully?”
He laughed quietly.
Some things never change.
Before sleeping, he looked around the room.
Raghav already asleep.
Scooter-snoring activated.
But tonight he understood something new.
Every person here…
Confident, loud, silent, or serious…
Was carrying invisible stories.
Struggles.
Losses.
Responsibilities.
Dreams.
And leadership, he realized, wasn’t about controlling people.
It was about understanding the weight they carry.
He closed his eyes with one comforting thought.
No matter how big the world became…
There was always one small house where someone still believed:
“My son is a prince.”
And maybe…
That belief was the strongest crown he could ever wear.
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