The Weight of Regret | Atharv Hatwar

Regret has a way of lingering, like an unfinished conversation echoing in the back of our minds. It is not always about the grand failures we imagine; often, it is about the small turns life took when we wished it had gone differently.

Think about the day results came out. That list, filled with names some in bold letters, some shining brighter than yours. You searched desperately for your own, hoping it would appear in the place you had dreamed of. And when it didn’t, the silence felt heavier than any noise. Your heart sank, not because you weren’t chosen at all, but because you were chosen elsewhere somewhere you never pictured yourself.

In those moments, regret is not loud. It whispers: “What if I had studied a little harder? What if I had been luckier? What if my name had appeared where I wanted it most?”

You go to a different college, and in the beginning, every wall feels unfamiliar. The classrooms don’t look like the ones you imagined. The crowd doesn’t feel like the one you thought you belonged to. You see people entering those “dream” institutions and you wonder if life has already slipped away from your hands.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, you begin to realize something: it isn’t the name of the place that shapes you, but the fire you carry within. Regret doesn’t disappear overnight, but it transforms. That sting becomes the reason you push harder, the reason you refuse to settle. And one day, when you achieve something greater than the title of any college could have given, you look back and understand it was never about the list. It was always about you.

Regret doesn’t only exist in academics. It walks with us through love too. Maybe you once stood in front of someone you cared for, words trembling on your lips, but you stayed silent. Or maybe you spoke, and they turned away. Years later, you remember that moment and wonder, “What if I had said more? What if I had held on?”

Love leaves its own selection list, doesn’t it? Some people’s names appear beside ours for a while, and then vanish. Some names never appear at all. And yet, just like with colleges, life shows us that missing one chance is not the end of the story. Sometimes, regret in love is what teaches us patience, depth, and resilience. It prepares us for a love more real, more enduring than the one we thought we had lost.

And then there are regrets beyond love and education the quiet ones. The job you didn’t apply for. The friendship you let fade. The dream you kept postponing because you thought the right time would eventually come. These regrets collect like pebbles in your pocket, weighing you down, reminding you of paths untaken.

But here’s the truth: regret is proof that you cared. That you desired, that you dreamed, that you wanted life to be more than survival. And if regret has the power to make us ache, it also has the power to make us move. To wake us up. To whisper: “This time, don’t let it slip.”

So maybe you didn’t get the college you wanted. Maybe love slipped away. Maybe opportunities vanished before you grabbed them. But life is not measured by the first list you didn’t see your name on, nor by the first person who didn’t choose you. It is measured by what you did next.

Regret will visit you it visits us all. But it doesn’t have to be the end of your story. Sometimes, regret is the very beginning of strength.

Regret is never about what we lost; it is about the story we never lived. The only way to silence it is to begin writing the story from where we stand.”

– Atharv Hatwar