She asked me if I had dreams. 

She asked me if I knew what I wanted. 

She told me my generation doesn’t want to work hard for stuff , we expect things to be served on a silver platter. 

She kept quiet. 

I swallowed the silence. 

She told me she misses her parents. 

I swallowed her grief. 

Where should I start? 

Do I start by saying I feel so bad her parents left her alone? 

Or do I start by saying God didn’t orchestrate the tragedy? 

I don’t know where to start. 

I told her I can’t tell her my dreams. 

He taught me to keep my dreams to myself. 

I started to work in silence. 

He said I should not want to be recognizable. 

I chose to do things in my secret place. 

I wanted to tell her each day I’m getting one step closer to my dreams. 

She changed the topic. 

And I spent all night being hard on myself.