Returning to the city from summer vacation felt like stepping back into a different world. The air was thicker, dirtier, and the sounds of traffic replaced the peaceful chirping of birds and rustling of mango leaves. But I was excited to get back to my bitcoin mining operation.
"Jake, first day back and you already want to go to the cyber café?" Mom asked, raising her eyebrow as I mentioned my plans. "Just want to check some computer stuff with Kane, Mom. We won't be long." "Hmm," she looked at me suspiciously. "You've been spending a lot of time at those cafés lately. I hope you're not getting addicted to those violent games."
"No, Mom, I promise. It's just... educational stuff." Dad looked up from his newspaper. "Educational? What kind of educational stuff needs a cyber café?"
My heart raced. I couldn't exactly explain bitcoin mining to them. "Just learning about computers, Dad. You always say technology is the future, right?"
He nodded slowly. "Alright, but don't waste too much money on these things. And be back before evening." When Kane and I reached Digital Dreams cyber café, my heart sank. There was a handwritten sign on the door: "Computer repairs - Closed for 3 days." "Great," Kane muttered. "Now what?"
"Let's try the other café," I suggested, though I knew it was more expensive and usually crowded.
The second café, 'Cyber Zone,' was indeed packed. Older kids were playing games, and there was a waiting list. The owner, a grumpy man named Gopal uncle, looked at us with annoyance.
"Kids, come back later. We're full."
"Uncle, we just need one computer for an hour," I pleaded.
"He said come back later. These older boys have been waiting longer."
We waited outside for nearly two hours before getting a chance. By then, I only had time for thirty minutes of mining before Mom would expect me home. Worse, the computer was slow and kept freezing. I managed to get the mining program running, but it was clearly not as efficient as my usual setup. "This is frustrating," I thought. "Everything seemed so simple in my planning."
The next few weeks brought more challenges. The football training that I was so excited about turned out to be tougher than expected. Coach Krishnan was strict, and my out-of-shape body struggled to keep up with the other boys.
"Jake, you're lagging behind! Pick up the pace!" he shouted during our third practice session.
I was panting heavily, my legs felt like jelly, and some of the other boys were clearly much fitter than me.
"Maybe fatty should stick to chess instead of football," one of the bullies, Ravi, commented loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Ignore him," Kane whispered, jogging beside me. "You're doing better than last week."
But it was hard to ignore. My confidence took a hit, and I started questioning whether I could really change my physical condition this time around.
The bitcoin mining was facing obstacles too. Digital Dreams café had reopened, but their computers were now slower after the repairs. What used to generate 0.5 bitcoin per minute was now barely managing 0.2. My total progress had slowed down significantly.
Worse, my betting strategy hit a snag. I had been so confident about predicting cricket match outcomes, but when I tried to place a bet on what I was sure would be a winning match for the visiting Australian team, Xia unexpectedly won by a narrow margin.
"No way," I muttered, staring at the final score on the radio. "This wasn't supposed to happen." I had lost 150 rupay on that bet – a significant chunk of my savings. Suresh uncle at the tea stall just shrugged. "That's gambling, beta. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Cricket is unpredictable."
But it wasn't supposed to be unpredictable for me! I was supposed to know the outcomes. The realization hit me hard – maybe small events could change, even if the major timeline remained the same. Or maybe my memory wasn't as perfect as I thought.
School was presenting its own challenges. My grades in fourth grade were decent in math, but other subjects were proving difficult. The teacher, Mrs. Sharma, had noticed my distraction. "Jake, you seem to be somewhere else during history lessons. Are you having trouble concentrating?"
"No ma'am, just... thinking about other things."
"Well, stop thinking about other things and focus on your studies. Your handwriting is still terrible, and now your attention is wandering too."
She wasn't wrong. My left-handed writing was still messy, and I found it hard to concentrate on subjects that I knew wouldn't be important for my future plans. But I couldn't let my grades slip, or Dad would stop my football training and cyber café visits.
At home, things were getting complicated too. Jason had started asking questions about where I went with my money. "Big bro, you always have money for the café, but you never buy anything for yourself. Where do you get it from?"
"Just savings from gifts," I replied, but he looked skeptical. "Mom says you should share with me sometimes. We're brothers." Great. Now I had to deal with family pressure about money sharing while trying to build my secret fortune.
The lowest point came one evening when I was returning from a particularly bad day at the café. The computer had crashed three times, I'd lost another bet on a cricket match I was sure about, and football practice had been humiliating because I couldn't complete the running drills.
I sat on our front steps, feeling defeated. Maybe this second chance wasn't the miracle I thought it was. Maybe I was destined to fail again.
"Rough day?" Dad's voice surprised me. He sat down beside me on the steps.
"Yeah," I admitted.
"Want to talk about it?"
I couldn't tell him the real reasons, so I said, "Just... things are harder than I thought they'd be."
Dad was quiet for a moment. "You know, Jake, when I first started teaching, I thought it would be easy because I knew the subjects well. But handling a classroom full of children, dealing with parents, managing the administration – it was all much harder than I expected."
"How did you manage?"
"One day at a time. And I learned that setbacks aren't failures – they're just information. They tell you what needs to be adjusted."
That night, I lay in bed thinking about Dad's words. Maybe I needed to adjust my approach. I was thinking like an adult but operating with a child's resources and limitations.
I decided to be more realistic about my goals and more patient with my progress.