Ayan stood outside EastTech Towers, backpack slung over one shoulder, his heart drumming in his ears. The glass building gleamed under the evening sun, but it was the basement that held the promise—and the mystery.
He followed the directions: down two flights of stairs, past a locked server room, until he found a steel door with no sign. Only a card reader with a red light.
He hesitated.
Suddenly, it beeped. The light turned green.
The door opened.
A man in his late forties stood there in a worn-out blazer, gray hair combed back, eyes sharp as blades.
"You're late," the man said. "That's a bad first impression."
Ayan straightened. "I—sorry—traffic—"
"Don't explain. Impress."
The man turned and walked in.
Ayan followed.
Inside the Circle
The basement didn't look like a club. It looked like a hacker's den and a Wall Street trading floor had a baby.
Screens blinked on every wall—live market charts, crypto graphs, startup pitch decks. A few teens and young adults sat around beanbags or typing furiously on laptops.
The man led Ayan to a glass table. "I'm Mr. Shetty. I run this 'Circle'. Not a company, not a club. A gateway."
"Gateway to what?" Ayan asked.
"To the real game."
Mr. Shetty slid a folder across the table.
Inside was a printout of Ayan's blog. Highlighted, annotated, circled.
"You've got potential. Voice. Grit. And desperation. That's a powerful mix if you don't waste it."
Ayan didn't know what to say.
Shetty leaned in. "What are you building?"
Ayan paused. Then pulled out a crumpled page from his notebook.
"A fintech app. MicroMillion. For teens. Small investments, gamified UI, learn-as-you-grow style. I don't have the tech yet. Just the idea."
Shetty studied it.
"Come back with a working prototype. You'll have five minutes to pitch it to the Circle. Winner gets seed funding—₹1 lakh."
Ayan's eyes widened.
That was more than a semester of fees.
More than a year of tiffin work.
"Deal?" Shetty asked.
Ayan nodded. "Deal."
Next Day – At School
Ayan barely slept. His mind was racing with wireframes, app designs, and questions he couldn't answer. But none of it showed as he slid into his usual library seat beside Rhea.
"You look… intense," she said.
"Didn't sleep."
"More blog writing?"
Ayan smiled faintly. "Something like that."
They got to work on their portfolio report. Rhea was explaining dividend yields when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
"You're hiding something."
"What?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You've got that secretive smirk. Like you're about to launch a rocket and not tell anyone."
He chuckled. "You're imagining things."
But she wasn't wrong. He was building something. And he didn't want to talk about it until he had something real to show.
Still, a part of him wanted to tell her.
But what if she laughed?
What if she thought he was just another broke boy dreaming big?
He stayed silent.
Evening – Café Bloom
This time, Ayan was early.
He sat alone with his notebook, sketching app mockups. Page after page filled with messy diagrams, scribbled formulas, and feature ideas.
Rhea arrived, late and windswept.
"Sorry—Neha dragged me into Zara. Shoe emergency."
Ayan smiled. "No emergency here. Just building empires."
She laughed. "Is that your new thing?"
"Always has been."
Rhea leaned over. "Let me see."
Ayan instinctively covered the notebook.
She raised a brow. "Okay, Mr. Mysterious."
Before he could reply, her phone rang. She checked the caller ID and frowned.
"Ugh. Arjun again."
Ayan stiffened. "Why's he calling you?"
"He's been weird lately. Asking questions about you."
That made Ayan's stomach twist. "Like what?"
"Like how you suddenly started showing up with ideas and confidence. Said you must be getting help."
Ayan's expression darkened.
"He's just jealous," Rhea added, brushing it off. "Forget him."
But Ayan couldn't forget. Not now.
Later That Night – Rooftop
Ayan sat under the stars, staring at the prototype mockup on his father's slow, cracked tablet. It was ugly, half-done, glitchy—but it worked. A dashboard, a learn tab, and a simulator for fake trades.
He had two days left before the pitch.
No budget. No team.
Just hunger.
And somewhere in the distance, Arjun Malhotra was dialing someone.
"Yeah. I want details on this Ayan Mehra. Background. Family. Everything."