Boxes of sweets are being opened in some homes, congratulatory messages are pouring in elsewhere, while in others an unusual silence has taken over. Every year, the matriculation and intermediate examination results announced by educational boards across Khyber Pakhtunkhwa bring these contrasting scenes.
This year, however, the results have once again raised a question that goes beyond education. It concerns our society, our families, and the mental well-being of young people.
Following the matriculation results in Peshawar, the death by suicide of a student, Uzair, has reignited the debate over whether young people are only struggling with the pressure of examinations or whether they are also being crushed under the weight of expectations—often placed on them without anyone realising it.

This is not just the story of one family or one student. It reflects an education system in which success is often measured solely by marks, while failure is treated as the end of the road.
I still remember my own examination days. My parents never set conditions or demanded a certain number of marks, and they always supported me. Yet, their silent hopes were always with me. They wanted me to perform well in every exam and proudly shared my academic achievements with relatives and friends. As a result, those around me also began expecting more from me. When I consistently achieved good results at university, those expectations grew even further, eventually turning into hopes that I would win a gold medal.
The nights before results were often sleepless. I would lose my appetite, feel constantly anxious, and repeatedly ask myself: What if I fail to meet everyone's expectations this time? Today, when I see other students going through the same experience, I realise many young people are carrying this silent burden without ever expressing it.
This is not merely a personal experience. Teachers in classrooms witness these changes every year.
Taj Ahmad, a government school teacher from Charbagh in Swat, says many students begin to behave differently as result day approaches.
"Some suddenly become quiet, others lose interest in studies, stop completing assignments, begin missing school, and many even appear physically unwell," he says. “The most worrying part is that most students never talk about their fears or anxiety.”
He believes teachers are responsible not only for academic results but also for reminding students that a single examination does not define their entire lives.
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"If a student's performance or behaviour changes suddenly, it is the responsibility of both parents and teachers to encourage and support them rather than increase their stress through expectations," he adds.
But is this pressure limited to schools and examinations? Psychologists say the answer is no.
Sarah Khan, a psychologist from Swat, explains that examination results alone do not push young people into severe mental distress. Rather, it is a combination of psychological and social factors that creates such crises.
According to her, many young people tie their identity and self-worth entirely to their grades. When this is combined with high parental expectations, comparisons with relatives, the pressure of seeing others' achievements on social media, worries about admission to preferred colleges and universities, uncertainty about the future, and feelings of personal failure, the emotional burden becomes overwhelming.
She says the warning signs may include insomnia, loss of appetite, irritability, frequent crying, withdrawing from others, losing interest in studies, a racing heartbeat, constant anxiety, and persistent thoughts such as "I am not good enough." These are not merely temporary emotions but, in some cases, signs that require immediate attention.
Her advice to parents is simple: on result day, do not ask only, "How many marks did you get?" Instead, ask, "How are you feeling?" Because often, children need someone who will listen without judgement more than they need advice.
If a student shows unusual changes in behaviour, persistent sadness, severe anxiety, or begins withdrawing from social interactions, parents should not ignore these signs. Instead, they should offer support and understanding. This issue is not confined to individual families; it is also deeply connected to the structure of our education system.
In Pakistan, limited seats in higher education institutions, ever-rising merit requirements, and intense competition for admission to certain fields often leave young people feeling that losing just a few marks could change the course of their entire future. As a result, examination results become more than just a report card for many students—they become a measure of their identity and their future.
During the results season, the role of both parents and teachers becomes more important than ever. Appreciating children's efforts, avoiding comparisons with others, encouraging them to view setbacks as opportunities to learn, and continuing to show them the same love, trust, and support regardless of the outcome can play a vital role in building their emotional resilience.
The real question is not how many students secured an A-1 grade this year or how many failed. The real question is whether our education system is preparing young people who can cope with failure with the same resilience with which they pursue success.
Perhaps it is time we learned to read our children's emotions before reading their report cards. Good grades may open doors to future opportunities, but a young person's life, self-confidence, and mental well-being are far more valuable than any grade, merit list, or report card.

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