The corridor smelled of damp uniforms and chalk. Fans spun lazily overhead, stirring warm air that carried the noise of morning chaos. Students rushed past in messy clusters, comparing timetables, bragging about marks, arguing about Domains like it was the Indhara Premier League.
Amid all that noise, Aryan and Sagar walked side by side—slow, steady, untouched by the world around them.
Sagar talked the most, as always.
"Orientation for Business & Management… they said it'll be in the assembly hall. Big people may come, da. Last time seniors said one guest from DHARA HQ came."
His hands moved as if his words needed physical support to stand upright.
Aryan hummed lightly, barely listening.
A small ache had begun behind his left eye—not a normal headache, but the kind that felt like something sharp was twisting inside. He pressed two fingers to his temple.
Sagar noticed instantly.
"You're getting it again?" he whispered.
Aryan didn't look up. "Hmm."
"You should check with the doctor again, da," Sagar said, voice lowering. "This is happening too often."
"I already went," Aryan muttered. "He said I'm perfectly normal."
Normal.
The way he said the word—flat, tired—made it clear he didn't believe it.
Sagar slowed down a little, concern tugging his eyebrows together.
"But it's not normal, da. You're hurting every day."
Aryan had no reply.
Not because he was ignoring him, but because he didn't have words for the kind of pain that didn't show itself.
A bottle clattered on the floor somewhere behind them. A senior yelled. Two juniors chased each other past the windows. Life buzzed loudly around them, but Aryan's world stayed small and silent.
After a stretch of quiet, Sagar finally voiced the question sitting on his tongue.
"Da… are you sure about Business & Management? You can still change it today. Science suits you more, no?"
Aryan brushed hair from his forehead. His eyes remained distant, unfocused.
"I still owe a battle to her, right?"
The sentence dropped like a stone into a still pond.
Sagar stopped walking.
The corridor continued moving—students pushing past, laughter bouncing off the walls—but Sagar froze like time paused for him alone.
A memory flickered in both their minds:
A girl with a quiet voice.
A debate that had no ending.
A drawing she made on the first page of her notebook.
A goodbye that came without warning.
Sagar swallowed.
"I didn't expect you to say that," he whispered.
Aryan didn't reply.
Some reasons don't need explanation.
They walked again. Sagar nudged Aryan's shoulder, trying to lighten the heaviness.
"You and your battles, da… you're always like this only."
Aryan didn't deny it.
He never did.
A group of boys sprinted past, arguing loudly.
"Ash lost again, macha!"
"No, bro! Pikachu should've won!"
The argument created a brief crack in Aryan's silence.
Sagar glanced sideways. "Speaking of that… did you watch yesterday's battle?"
Aryan finally looked up, headache still throbbing but eyes clearer.
"Hm. Pikachu shouldn't have used Iron Tail first."
Sagar lit up immediately.
"That's exactly what I said!"
For a moment, they were just two kids again—talking anime, forgetting the world.
But the truth pulsed quietly underneath:
Aryan wasn't choosing Business for ambition.
He was choosing it for a promise he never said aloud.
---
By the time they reached the staircase, the corridor outside Class 5 had emptied. Most students had already gone to the auditorium for senior orientation. Voices echoed from upstairs—older, sharper, full of confidence.
Aryan's headache sharpened again. He pressed his fingers harder to his temple.
Sagar slowed. "Da… you really don't look okay. Tell ma'am if it's too much."
"I'm fine," Aryan replied.
It wasn't convincing.
It wasn't meant to be.
The auditorium was already crowded. Seniors sat in tight rows; a few Class 8 boys leaned back like they owned the place. Sport students bounced a basketball lightly with their feet. Juniors squeezed in wherever they found space.
And right in the middle stood Tanushri.
Class 8.
Vidyashree's quiet legend.
A girl whose confidence didn't need volume.
She was explaining something to juniors when her eyes drifted to the entrance.
She froze—then brightened instantly.
Tanushri spotted him immediately. She wasn't his sister by blood — just a senior who had claimed him as her "little brother" since Class 3 — but the affection in her voice made the relationship feel real.
"ARYAN!" she called, waving both arms.
Heads turned.
Aryan stiffened.
Attention.
Spotlight.
He hated it.
But she was his akka.
So he walked.
Sagar followed.
Tanushri reached them first and pulled Aryan into a half-hug. "How are you, kanna? You look tired."
"I'm fine, akka," he offered.
Sagar, betrayer of peace, spoke immediately.
"No, he's not. He's had a headache since morning."
Aryan glared at him softly—why, da?
Tanushri's face folded in worry. "Again? Did you take a tablet? Did you tell this to Aunty?"
"It's normal," he mumbled.
"It's NOT normal," she said gently but firmly. "You don't get headaches like other kids."
She guided them to the corner seats, lowering her voice.
"Today was your Domain Selection, right? What did you choose?"
"Science," Sagar said.
"Business and Management," Aryan added.
Tanushri blinked. "You… what?"
Aryan nodded.
She leaned back, thinking.
"That's unexpected. But if it's serious, then I'm proud."
Her tone shifted—older, wiser, protective.
"You know what that path is like, right? It's pressure. Corporate pressure. Presentations. Planning. DHARA projects. Marks are earned, not given."
Aryan listened, but the pain behind his eyebrow intensified.
"DHARA watches everything," she continued. "How you lead, how you think, how you react to failure. Scholarships are high. Competition is worse."
Aryan's breath slowed, controlled.
The way it always did when the world pressed too close.
Tanushri noticed.
She softened. "If it's too much, I'll stop."
"No," Aryan said. "I want to know."
Her smile warmed. "That's my brother."
Then she asked quietly,
"Why did you really choose this, kanna?"
Aryan looked away.
A memory flickered—a girl drawing Doraemon on the first page of her book. A debate he never finished. A promise he silently carried.
"For the battle I still owe," he murmured.
"And… for a better future."
Tanushri's eyes softened.
She touched his hair gently.
"You don't have to match anyone, kanna. Not even the girl you're thinking about."
Aryan didn't react, but his fingers tightened around his knee.
"And listen," she whispered, "you're not alone. Whatever you face in this domain… you're not alone."
For a moment, the ache dulled.
Sagar leaned forward. "Da… if you faint, I'll tell ma'am you were trying to act cool."
Aryan sighed.
"I won't faint."
"Then I'll say you were acting dramatic."
Aryan's lips twitched—the closest thing to a smile he let the world see.
The lights dimmed.
The projector flickered.
The room quietened.
And Aryan, head pounding but eyes steady, sat straighter.
Ready for whatever waited on the other side of this choice.
Ready for the battle only he remembered.
PS:
Akka means Elder sister.