By Ayushee Dubey
I stood at the bottom,
eyes locked on the peak.
"I'll reach it."
"First attempt. No failure. No falls."
The world would watch.
They would see me rise.
I would prove them wrong.
I climbed.
Fire in my chest.
Wind at my back.
Pain in my legs, but I didn't stop.
"This mountain is mine."
Then—
The fire dimmed.
The wind turned cold.
Doubt crept in, wrapping around my ankles like vines.
"Rest a little."
"You have time."
Distractions held me tight,
soft as silk, heavy as chains.
I stood still, telling myself—
"This isn't failure."
I waited.
The sun rose. The stars blinked. The world spun.
But I did not move.
The mountain stretched taller.
Clouds swallowed the peak.
"Not today. But soon."
But soon never came.
And one day—
time was up.
I turned to my mountain,
now a giant, now untouchable.
The summit stood untouched.
Not because I tried and failed—
but because I never truly climbed.
I had spent my life
planning, dreaming, waiting—
as if thoughts alone
could carry me to the top.
And now, at the edge of my life,
I whisper into the silence:
"I have done nothing."
But even now, regret whispers back—
"Even failure would have been a victory."
Had I climbed, even a little,
Had I fallen but kept moving,
I might not have touched the peak—
but I would have reached somewhere.
And somewhere is always better than nothing.
So if you stand at the foot of your own mountain,
fear in your chest, doubt in your mind—
Move. Climb. Stumble. Fall. Rise.
Because someone, somewhere,
watching their dreams crumble to dust,
might look at you—
and see proof that even a single step
can change everything.