William rose at three in the morning, working as a dustman on the streets of London. Thanks to his excellent school marks, he had earned a scholarship to study at university. He dreamed of becoming an engineer—not for riches, but for a better life and to support his family.
It was no easy feat. To balance work and study, he had to plan every minute. He woke at dawn, studying an hour or two before heading out. By five, he was already labouring, sometimes until nine or later. Afterward, he’d rush home or to public lavatories, washing up as best he could. In winter, his fingers stiffened with cold; in summer, sweat clung stubbornly to his skin.
Sometimes he arrived late to lectures. Other times, though he’d scrubbed clean, the lingering scent of rubbish still trailed him. It wasn’t by choice—he couldn’t help it.
His classmates eyed him with disdain, keeping their distance. Muffled laughter followed him, though he heard every whisper. Some flung windows open dramatically; others made snide remarks. No one sat beside him.
William kept his head down, silent, opening his notebook and focusing. His hands sometimes trembled with exhaustion; his eyelids grew heavy. But he endured. He wanted more—needed more.
The tutors noticed. He answered well, engaged keenly, grasped concepts swiftly. He never cheated. Never complained.
One day, after a gruelling exam, the tutor strode in grim-faced. The entire class had failed, he announced. Silence fell—until he added, “All except William.”
Murmurs rippled. Some couldn’t believe it; others scowled. “The tutor favours him,” they muttered. “Who knows how he studies?”
The tutor fixed William with a look and asked aloud, “How do you manage to learn so well?”
William fidgeted, unaccustomed to attention. Swallowing hard, he replied, “I recite lessons aloud. Summarise them. Record myself and listen while I work.”
No one spoke.
Later, the tutor overheard students mocking William outside the lecture hall. He halted, facing them. “You’ve no idea what hard work is,” he said sharply. “He’s out collecting bins before dawn—while you’re still abed. Yet here he is, outperforming you all without a word of complaint. You ought to be ashamed. Learn from him instead of jeering.”
The students fell quiet. Some glanced away. One approached William, offering an apology. Then another. The tutor sat beside him, voice low. “Don’t let it weigh you down. Life isn’t always fair, but what you’re doing matters. You’re not alone.”
William didn’t say much. Just smiled. Inside, he felt it—every ounce of effort was worth it.
Don’t stop. Your worth isn’t measured by others’ glances, but by what you do when no one lends a hand. Like William. Don’t give up. One day, all you’ve done will bear fruit. You deserve it.
