A boy of 17 was running—
Blindly.
It felt like he needed to reach somewhere.
Urgently.
People standing at the corner of the street watched him—
Confused.
Curious.
Feroz.
That was his name.
A boy of 17 years—
Running after stealing food from a shop.
Trying to reach his home…
Or what he believed was his home.
He kept running.
Fast.
Desperate.
So afraid of being caught by the shopkeeper—
That he didn't even realize—
He had injured himself along the way.
Somehow—
He managed to escape.
Breathing heavily—
Heart racing—
He finally reached his shack.
Without wasting a second—
He started eating the food he had stolen.
He was starving.
Hungry for three days.
Life had never been fair to him.
Not once.
There were moments—
When he thought about giving up.
Ending everything.
But deep inside—
He knew something.
What life had done to him was unfair.
And he would not accept defeat.
He would fight.
Against every challenge life placed in front of him.
He would not let his story end…
As a failure.
After eating—
His body finally gave in.
He lay down—
And fell asleep.
Unaware.
That his foot—
Was still bleeding.
But even then—
He slept.
Peacefully.
Because the pain he had carried for 17 years—
Was far greater—
Than the pain of a wounded foot.