The sun streamed in through the classroom's dusty windows, casting golden stripes across the wooden desks. It was just another Wednesday. But for Ayan, every minute beside Rhea felt like a silent revolution.
They had claimed the window seat at the back corner of the library as their daily workspace. The view overlooked the school courtyard, where juniors played football and seniors loitered like they owned the place.
Rhea sat cross-legged on the wooden bench, a pencil between her lips, her iPad resting on one knee. Ayan sat beside her, scrolling through pages of company reports he'd printed at home.
"Okay," she said, "You pick a company. Any one. And tell me why you'd invest in it."
"Uh…" Ayan flipped through his notes, heart pounding. "This small startup called 'FiskMint'. They're building budget investing tools for first-timers in Tier-2 cities. I like how simple they make it."
She looked up, eyebrows raised. "You've done your research."
He smiled. "Didn't sleep much."
"You never do," she said, smirking.
There it was again—chemistry. Not loud, not over-the-top. Just warm glances and quiet sparks that lingered in the air long after the conversation ended.
The Cafeteria – Later
Neha joined Rhea at their usual table, glancing across at Ayan, who was sitting alone near the water cooler with his tiffin.
"You've been spending a lot of time with him," she said.
"Yeah. He's… different," Rhea replied, twirling her straw absentmindedly. "He's not fake. And he listens."
Neha tilted her head. "You like him, don't you?"
Rhea flushed. "I don't not like him."
Meanwhile…
Ayan scrolled through his crypto app again.
₹555 had become ₹520.
"Market dipped," he muttered to himself.
He was learning the rollercoaster the hard way. Win one day, lose the next.
His phone buzzed.
Rhea: 'Want to meet at 6? I have something cool to show you.'
Ayan's heart did a full somersault.
He typed, "Sure. Where?"
Rhea: 'Café Bloom. Don't worry, I'll pay.'
He frowned. That stung more than it should have.
6 PM – Café Bloom
The café was nestled between a bookstore and a florist, all fairy lights and indie jazz music. Ayan entered nervously. His shirt had been ironed twice. His shoes were clean. He still felt out of place.
Rhea waved him over from a booth near the window. She was sipping a cold brew and scrolling through her laptop.
"This place is... fancy," Ayan mumbled, sliding into the seat.
She smiled. "Relax. This is a friendly ambush."
He blinked. "What?"
She turned her laptop toward him.
"You wrote this, didn't you?" she said, showing him his crypto blog. "Your posts have like 3,000 views now. People are sharing them."
He stared at the screen in disbelief.
"I just… wrote what I felt," he said softly.
"That's what makes it good."
Then, without warning, she asked: "What do you really want, Ayan?"
He hesitated. No one had ever asked him that.
"To never feel small again," he finally said. "To make something big. Something real. So my family doesn't have to worry about rent, or broken fans, or borrowed phones. And maybe…"
He stopped.
"Maybe what?"
He met her eyes. "Maybe have someone to share it with."
The café air turned heavier.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Outside the café, someone clicked a photo of them through the glass.
Arjun.
His face twisted with a mix of jealousy and calculation.
Later That Night
Back home, Ayan sat on the roof, watching stars fade into the Mumbai haze. His phone buzzed again.
Mr. Shetty: "Heard you're writing. Come pitch to me. Tomorrow. 5 PM."
Ayan blinked.
How did he know?
The message was followed by an address:
Level 4, EastTech Towers – Basement Startup Circle
A secret startup club? An investor? A real chance?
His hands trembled.
A door had opened. One he never knew existed.
And tomorrow… he'd walk through it.