Done

Not at all, thank you for reading my biography. This is exactly what I want to encourage :)

Here is my take on what you requested; I hope it works ! ----

"HUNGERS"

The student truly hadn't intended to ignore his body at the start.

It wasn’t discipline at first. It was inconvenience. Meals interrupted concentration. Hunger arrived at inconvenient intervals, tugging at him when his hands were full and his mind finally quiet. He learned to postpone it.

Ten more minutes.

One more problem.

After this page.

Hunger, however, was patient.

Clinically speaking, the signs were unremarkable. Lightheadedness when standing. A dull ache behind the eyes. Hands cold even in warm rooms. The body conserving what little it was given. He catalogued these sensations without alarm. Symptoms were not emergencies; they were data.

He told himself he would eat later.

"Later" shortly became a movable concept.

What surprised him was how hunger sharpened things. Thoughts aligned. The noise thinned. The world felt narrow enough to manage. There was something efficient about it-- like running a system in low power mode. He performed better, or at least believed he did.

That belief mattered more than accuracy.

So he leaned into it.

However, there was another hunger. This one was less cooperative and did not announce itself with physical cues. It sat behind his ribs, heavy and restless, a pressure that had no language. The hunger to succeed was not satisfied by small wins. It did not recede when fed; it recalibrated.

He postponed tasks the same way he postponed meals. Not out of laziness, but out of fear of doing them imperfectly. Each delay felt justified in isolation.

Together, they formed a pattern.

The guilt arrived quietly.

First as awareness. Then as weight.

He would sit at his desk, stomach hollow, screen glowing, knowing exactly what needed to be done. The knowledge did not move him. It pinned him. The longer he waited, the more the task grew, and the more impossible it felt to begin. Hunger made him sharper, but guilt made him brittle.

He had told himself tomorrow would be different. He would wake early. He would eat properly. He would start immediately. This narrative comforted him more than food ever did. It gave the day shape, even if he never inhabited it. A particular cruelty in knowing this vicious cycle-- and sense of routine when he repeated it anyways.

When he finally ate, it was mechanically. Calories as obligation. Chewing without pleasure, swallowing without relief. The body accepted it with suspicion. Hunger did not leave immediately; it lingered, as if unconvinced by the gesture.

Success behaved the same way.

Small accomplishments dulled the edge but never satisfied it. Each success only clarified how much further there was to go. The distance expanded as he moved toward it, like a horizon.

The student understood, in theory, that neither hunger was sustainable. That bodies require fuel. That achievement without rest corrodes rather than builds. He understood this the way one understands statistics-- abstractly, impersonally.

Understanding still did not translate into change, though.

By evening, both hungers returned in full. His stomach tightened. His chest felt crowded. He sat with them, postponing again. Not eating. Not starting. Suspended between need and action.

It was easier to endure hunger than to risk failing to satisfy it.

So he waited.