Ensō Guild

Arjun poured another splash of liquid into his glass and watched it swirl in the dim light. He stared at it for a moment before looking back at Kabir.

"Make him comfortable with being stuck," Arjun repeated, testing the weight of the phrase. "You know how that sounds? It sounds like I’m paying a tutor to watch my son stare at a wall."

"If he’s staring at the wall thinking, then yes," Kabir said. "That’s exactly what you’re paying for."

"And when he starts crying?" Arjun shot back, his voice sharpening slightly. "Because that’s what happens, Kabir. Last Tuesday, he had this geometry problem. Something about circles and tangents. He sat there for ten minutes, getting nowhere. I could see the panic rising. His breathing got fast, face got red. He looked at me like he was drowning."

"So what did you do?"

"I stepped in. Obviously. I sat next to him, I drew a helper line, and I said, 'Look, Rohan, if you connect the center to the tangent, what’s the angle?' And boom, his face lit up. He said, 'Oh! It’s ninety degrees!' and he solved the rest in thirty seconds. We high-fived. Crisis averted."

Arjun leaned back, looking satisfied. "That’s parenting. That’s teaching."

Kabir didn’t smile. He turned his chair slightly to face Arjun fully.

"Who solved the problem, Arjun?"

"He did. I just gave him a nudge."

"No," Kabir said softly. "You solved the problem. You did the heavy lifting. You identified the missing piece, you drew the line, and you handed him the key. All he did was turn it."

Arjun frowned. "I showed him the method."

"You showed him that when things get hard, Dad—or a teacher, or a boss—will step in and fix it," Kabir countered. "You robbed him."

"Robbed him?"

"You robbed him of the victory. Think about the gym, Arjun. You bench press, right?"

"Yeah."

"If you’re struggling with the last rep, shaking, veins popping, and I come over and lift the bar for you... did you get stronger?"

Arjun swirled his drink again. "No."

"The strength isn't in the easy reps. The strength is entirely in that last terrible moment where you think you can't do it, but you push anyway. That is where the muscle tears and grows." Kabir pointed a finger at the sliding glass door leading to the house. "The brain is the same. When Rohan was panicking, that was the point of maximum growth. That was the mental gym. And you took the weight off the bar."

Arjun rubbed his temples. "So I should have just let him cry?"

"You should have let him struggle," Kabir corrected. "There is a difference between suffering and struggling. Suffering is aimless. Struggling is intended."

"It’s hard to watch," Arjun admitted, his voice quiet. "It feels... neglectful."

"That is the hardest part of the new game," Kabir agreed, his tone empathetic for the first time. "The old game was about minimizing pain. The new game is about building capacity. And capacity requires friction."

Kabir leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Next time he gets stuck, try this. Don't draw the line. Don't give the hint. Set a timer."

"A timer?"

"Tell him: 'Rohan, I am not going to help you for fifteen minutes. You are allowed to be stuck. You are allowed to draw wrong diagrams. You are allowed to be frustrated. But you cannot quit until the timer rings.'"

"He’ll hate it."

"He will," Kabir nodded. "At first. He will feel abandoned. But then, one day—maybe next week, maybe next month—he will be twelve minutes into the struggle. He will be angry and bored. And suddenly, the pattern will click. He will see the line himself. And the rush he gets from that? That dopamine hit of 'I conquered this alone'?"

Kabir snapped his fingers.

"That is addictive, Arjun. Once a child feels that, they stop looking for shortcuts. They stop looking for you to save them. They start looking for the next dragon to slay."

Arjun looked at the dark skyline, digesting this. "I’ve been training him to be dependent on me."

"You’ve been training him to be efficient," Kabir said. "But efficiency is cheap. Resilience is expensive. If you want him to lead, he has to know how to stand in the chaos when nobody knows the answer, and not panic."

Arjun finished his drink in one long pull. He set the glass down with a heavy thud.

"Fifteen minutes," Arjun muttered. "God, my wife is going to kill me."

"She might," Kabir grinned. "But tell me, do you want a happy twelve-year-old, or a capable thirty-year-old?"

Arjun stood up and walked to the railing. He looked down at the street, watching a luxury car weave aggressively through the slow traffic, ignoring a rickshaw’s indignant honking.

"I think," Arjun said, his back to Kabir, "I think I want him to be the one driving, not the one honking."

"Then let him get stuck," Kabir said.