Narration:
Indore, one week into Class 12. The city was buzzing with honking rickshaws, chai stalls, and panicked students pretending revision notes were more useful than memes.
Among them sat Liyan Sharma — 17, tall, messy-haired, and perpetually looking like he'd just woken up from a 3-hour nap (because he usually had). His teachers called him "bright but careless." His parents preferred "hopeless." He himself liked "misunderstood genius."
Beside him were his three closest friends:
Aarav Kapoor — sharp dresser, smooth talker, and living proof that bluffing could be an academic skill.
Ahana Desai — topper, queen of sarcasm, and self-appointed group fact-checker.
Isha Malik — bold, witty, and notorious for excuses that could convince even the sternest teacher.
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[Scene: Outside their coaching center. The gang sits on a boundary wall, sipping cold drinks.]
Aarav: (grinning) Bro, admit it. You only passed Class 11 because the teacher felt bad for you.
Liyan: (deadpan) Wrong. God pressed the wrong key and accidentally clicked "Pass."
Ahana: (rolling her eyes) Please. Even God doesn't make mistakes that lazy.
Isha: (laughing) Forget mistakes. Liyan needs a full software update.
Liyan: (sighs) Great. Keep roasting me. My self-esteem just applied for unemployment.
Aarav: (mock serious) Just wait. If you fail Class 12, your mom will turn your phone into a landline.
Liyan: (groaning) Don't even joke. She's already planning to swap my Wi-Fi for daily Bhagavad Gita lectures.
Ahana: (gasps) No Wi-Fi? That's not punishment. That's war crime.
[They laugh together. The sun dips below Indore's skyline. Cut to later that night in Liyan's room.]
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[Scene: Liyan's bedroom. Fan creaks. Books open. Phone hidden under chemistry notes.]
Liyan: (to himself) Okay… one YouTube video. Then I'll actually start chemistry. Promise.
[Suddenly, scratching from his cupboard.]
Liyan: (whispering) Please be a rat. Or… maybe a pizza delivery guy who took a wrong turn?
[The cupboard creaks open. Out waddles a fluffy white dog, standing upright on two legs, eyes glowing blue.]
Liyan: (screaming) MAAA! DOG! IN THE CUPBOARD!
[He jumps on the bed, wielding a pillow like a cricket bat.]
Dog: (calmly) Relax, Liyan Sharma. I am AI Support Unit 5678.
Liyan: (gaping) You… you TALK?!
Dog: Incorrect. I communicate. Talking is outdated.
Liyan: You're… a DOG!
Dog: Negative. Form chosen for optimal cuteness.
Liyan: (shaking) Cuteness?! Bro, I nearly donated my lungs to fear!
Dog: (blinks) Error: Emotional calibration mismatch.
[The dog raises a paw. Panels slide open in its fluffy pads, revealing glowing nano-slots with tiny futuristic tools tucked inside.]
Dog: Behold. My Nano-Paw Modules. Each paw contains technology designed to assist you.
Liyan: (blinking) Wait… your gadgets are in your paws?
Dog: Correct. Portable. Concealed. Also capable of producing popcorn.
[He presses a paw. A gadget whirs, spitting out two burnt popcorn kernels.]
Liyan: (deadpan) Amazing. You've invented… disappointment.
Dog: Ignore that. Main point: Fail Class 12, and your future becomes… very complicated.
[Liyan clutches his pillow, staring at the glowing-eyed dog wagging its tail like nothing's unusual.]
Narration (closing line):
Liyan had always prayed for a miracle.
He just hadn't expected it to arrive standing on two legs — with gadgets in its paws.