Opening for Ed Narrative – Said Babaev

The evening light had grown faint through the heavy lime curtains, stretching long shadows over the living room. Nestled behind my laptop, a warm fan hummed in the background as my fingers danced along the keys, plotting out yet another game idea. The result of months of work was on the screen before me—an almost-finished level, with every pixel and line of code carefully crafted. The excitement boiled inside me, so close to that feeling of completion. That’s when my mother rushed in. She lingered by the door, her narrowed eyes flicking from the screen to me. Without her saying a word, I felt the weight of years of silent judgment settles on me again. I returned to my laptop, trying to avoid the conversation I knew was coming. But then, the silence shattered.

“Everyone in this family has accomplished something with their lives except you,” she said, her voice icy and cutting. I stopped, her words sharp as a knife. “Когда ты хоть научишься стоить?!—осёл.” At that moment, my stomach dropped, and her words stung deeper than before. Everyone in this family has gotten somewhere except you. Will you ever be worth anything, donkey? The word “осёл”—donkey—mocked me, a word that carried years of unmet expectations. I looked up at her, the laptop suddenly feeling like a foolish distraction next to what she had just said. My mind raced, searching for a quick comeback, something—anything—that would prove her wrong, make her see that I wasn’t just a failure. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, the familiar feeling of inadequacy settled in, heavier than ever. Without waiting for a response, she took one last look and stormed out, leaving me behind with only the faint hum of my laptop—a reminder of the gap between who I was and who she wanted me to be.