The Choice of Change

# The Choice to Change

### By Vijay Sharma Erry

#### #WritcoStoryPrompt117

The question hung in the air like morning mist over the lake. "If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?"

Dr. Arjun Mehta stared at the words on his computer screen. It was a simple survey question from his daughter's school psychology project, but it had frozen him in place. His coffee grew cold beside him as memories flooded back, washing over thirty-five years of carefully constructed success.

At fifty-seven, Arjun had everything society told him to want. He was the head of cardiology at the city's premier hospital, owned a sprawling house in the hills, drove a luxury car, and had accounts that would ensure a comfortable retirement. His children were settled—Priya was a software engineer in California, and Rohan was finishing his MBA in London. His wife, Meera, managed a successful boutique in the city center.

Yet the question disturbed something deep within him.

That evening, Arjun sat on his balcony overlooking the city lights. The usual sense of accomplishment felt hollow. He thought about the path his life had taken, the fork in the road he had encountered decades ago.

He was eighteen again, standing in his father's study. The acceptance letters lay spread across the mahogany desk like playing cards. One from the prestigious medical college his father had attended, and another from the National School of Drama in Delhi.

"Medicine is a noble profession, beta," his father had said, his voice gentle but firm. "Acting? That's a hobby, not a career. Think of your future, your family's reputation."

Young Arjun had looked at the drama school letter, remembering the thrill of his first stage performance in school. The applause, the connection with the audience, the way he could become someone else entirely and help people feel emotions they'd forgotten existed. But he had folded that letter carefully and placed it in a drawer, choosing the white coat over the spotlight.

"Arjun? Are you coming to bed?" Meera's voice brought him back to the present.

"In a minute," he replied, but she came and sat beside him instead.

"You've been quiet since this morning. What's bothering you?"

He showed her the survey question on his phone. She read it and smiled knowingly. "So, what would you change?"

"I don't know if I should even be thinking about it. I mean, look at what we have. How can I complain?"

Meera took his hand. "Having a good life doesn't mean you can't wonder about the road not taken. We all do."

"Do you? Wonder, I mean?"

She nodded. "Sometimes I think about the scholarship I turned down to study art restoration in Florence. But then I wouldn't have met you, wouldn't have our children, this life." She paused. "But that doesn't make the wondering wrong."

Over the next few days, Arjun couldn't shake the question. He found himself watching old movies between surgeries, reading theater reviews during lunch breaks. One evening, he drove past the city's oldest theater, the Regal Playhouse, where he'd performed in his school's annual production of "Julius Caesar." He had played Brutus, and for those three nights, he had truly felt alive.

On impulse, he parked and walked to the box office. A community theater group was performing that evening. He bought a ticket.

The production was amateur but earnest—a local adaptation of a classic play. Arjun sat in the darkness, watching the actors pour their hearts into their roles. He felt something crack inside his chest, not the clinical kind he treated daily, but something emotional and profound.

After the show, he found himself backstage, drawn by an invisible thread. The director, a woman in her sixties with vibrant silver hair, was giving notes to the cast.

"Can I help you?" she asked, noticing him.

"I... I don't know why I came back here," Arjun admitted. "I used to act, many years ago."

She smiled. "It never really leaves you, does it? I'm Anjali Sharma. We're always looking for volunteers. Backstage, onstage, we'll take any help we can get."

Arjun heard himself say, "I'd like that."

And so began the most unexpected chapter of his life. Twice a week, after hospital rounds, Arjun would arrive at the Regal Playhouse. At first, he just helped with sets and props, content to be near the creative energy. But Anjali saw something in him.

"We need someone for a small role in our next production," she said one evening. "A doctor, actually. Quite fitting, don't you think?"

Arjun hesitated. At his age, making a fool of himself? But then he remembered the question: If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?

"I'll do it," he said.

The first rehearsal was terrifying. His lines felt clumsy, his movements stiff. The younger actors were patient, kind even, but he felt like an imposter. That night, he nearly quit.

Meera stopped him. "You're not trying to become a professional actor, Arjun. You're trying to reconnect with a part of yourself you left behind. That's brave, not foolish."

So he persevered. Slowly, the muscle memory returned. He learned to trust his instincts, to let emotions flow through him rather than dissecting them clinically. The character became real, and in becoming someone else, he found himself again.

Opening night arrived. Priya flew in from California, curious about her father's strange new hobby. Rohan video-called from London, his face pixelated but smiling. Meera sat in the front row, her eyes already glistening.

As Arjun stepped onto the stage, something remarkable happened. The thirty-nine years between that scared eighteen-year-old and this aging doctor collapsed. He wasn't changing his past; he was reclaiming a future he'd denied himself.

His performance lasted only twelve minutes—a small role in a small production in a small theater. But when the curtain fell and the audience applauded, he felt whole in a way he hadn't in decades.

Later, in the dressing room, removing his makeup, he caught his reflection. The same gray hair, the same lines around his eyes, but something fundamental had shifted.

Priya found him there. "Dad, that was amazing. I didn't know you could act."

"Neither did I. Not anymore." He smiled. "Do you know what I'd change if I could go back?"

She shook her head.

"Nothing," he said, surprising himself with the truth of it. "Not the choice I made at eighteen, not the path I took. But I'd tell that young man that life isn't about choosing between paths. It's about having the courage to circle back and walk the roads you missed, even if you have to take detours and shortcuts to get there."

He looked at his daughter, really looked at her. "What about you? If you could change one thing?"

Priya smiled, understanding dawning in her eyes. "I've been thinking about teaching coding to underprivileged kids. It's not profitable, but..."

"But it matters to you," Arjun finished. "Then do it. Don't wait thirty-nine years like I did."

That night, Arjun finished the survey. His answer surprised him: "If I could change one thing about my life, it would be the belief that we only get one chance to be who we're meant to be. We get countless chances. We just have to be brave enough to take them."

He hit submit and felt lighter than he had in years. Tomorrow he had surgery at six and rehearsal at seven. Tomorrow he would save lives and inhabit them. Tomorrow he would be both the man he became and the man he almost was.

And perhaps, he thought, that was the real answer all along.

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**The End**

*Word Count: 1,298 words*