Srinagar, May 19 -- In the dimly lit corner of a modest tea stall in Srinagar, nestled between quiet lanes and the cold breeze of a fading winter, I met a boy whose story has stayed with me like an echo. He was soft-spoken, barely 21, with eyes that carried the weight of a thousand unsaid words. What began as small talk turned into an hour-long conversation about life, expectations, and dreams-dreams that were buried long before they had a chance to bloom.He didn't tell me his name, and I didn't ask. Some stories feel too fragile for details.As a child, he loved to draw. Sketchbooks were his best friends, and even his school notebooks had more art than answers. But as he grew older, the world around him became less forgiving of those drea...