The bell had barely finished ringing when Aryan closed his notebook, slid the sanctioned pitch file back into his bag, and stood up.
He didn't look triumphant. Or relieved. Or excited.
He just looked… focused.
The kind of focus that made his classmates instinctively move aside when he walked.
Sagar jogged up behind him, stuffing his water bottle back into its cover.
"Da! You're going now only? At least drink water first!"
Aryan shook his head. "Later. They'll leave if we're late."
Riya was already waiting near the door, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder.
"You walk too fast," she muttered. "And you don't wait."
"You came," Aryan said simply.
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm not your assistant. I'm observing. For my pitch."
Sagar snorted. "Yeah right. 'Observing' ah? You're just nosy."
Riya elbowed him.
"Shut up."
They followed Aryan out of the school gate.
The sun was sharp but not hot yet. The after-school rush was beginning — students trickling out, rickshaw horns, parents waiting on two-wheelers, the usual clutter.
But beyond the noise, the vendors were already active.
Stalls lined the footpath like a small moving ecosystem
The bajji cart,
The fruit uncle slicing mosambi,
The old pani puri aunty setting her steel plates in order,
The cold juice boy wiping glasses with a cloth that didn't look fully clean,
Two new vendors arguing about shade space.
Aryan slowed.
He watched.
In his upgraded mind, the layout rearranged itself, like a puzzle shifting into place.
Vendor positions. Crowd flow. Problems. Possible solutions. Possible mistakes.
But the moment he stepped closer, reality didn't rearrange like a puzzle.
Aryan stepped toward the bajji cart first. Murthy uncle didn't look up — just assumed Aryan was buying something.
"Thirty-two rupees," he said.
"I didn't buy—"
"Then don't stand near the cart. People think you're in line."
Aryan opened his file.
"Uncle, I'm doing a project—"
The moment he said "project," Murthy uncle's expression hardened.
"Ah. Another one. Students come, take notes, make chart paper… we get nothing. Move, pa. After five-thirty maybe."
Aryan tried again — calm, respectful.
"I'm trying to understand your difficulties—"
"Difficulties?" Murthy laughed bitterly. "Our life is not your assignment. Go, kid."
They moved on.
Sagar whispered, "Da… rough start."
Riya muttered, "Try someone less irritated."
---
Second Attempt — Parvathi Aunty
Aryan bought one plate just so she'd stop dismissing him.
While she prepared pani puri, he explained — layout, safety, better flow, including their problems respectfully.
Parvathi aunty paused mid-action.
"You want to move us?"
"No—"
"You want to decide where we stand?"
"No aunty, I want to—"
"Five years I've sold here. I know danger, I know timings, I know your school better than teachers. Now you show me map and tell me 'better'?"
Her voice cracked with hurt more than anger.
Last year's memory sat behind her eyes.
Security guards pushing them away.
Someone calling the food "dirty."
Municipality fines.
Sagar tried, "Aunty, he's genuinely—"
"Go. Eat and go."
Aryan set the plate down
Untouched.
No answer.
No solution.
Just a quiet sting.
Third Attempt — Salman, the Juice Stall Boy
Salman looked more reasonable.
"School project?" he guessed the moment Aryan approached.
Aryan nodded.
"Kid," Salman sighed, "maybe your idea is good. But we've heard too many ideas. Officer comes, promises big things, then disappears. We lose space, lose money, lose peace."
"If school gives place inside—" Aryan tried.
"Inside means rent," Salman cut in. "And if they increase it? Add festival charges? Whom do we fight? And outsiders can't buy inside. My sales drop."
Aryan didn't interrupt.
Every word hit the weak points of his plan.
"You're smart," Salman said gently. "But don't play with lives unless you can promise stability."
"I… can't promise anything," Aryan admitted.
"Then think slower," Salman said. "Come again."
They walked toward the bus stop in silence.
Sagar kept glancing nervously at Aryan.
"Da… you okay?"
Aryan didn't answer.
His mind was replaying every sentence.
Not the rejection.
The fear behind the rejection.
Riya finally said, "It's not you. They're scared because people like you — confident, organised — have caused them pain before."
Aryan stared at the file.
"This is the first time everything I prepared… broke in one day."
"It didn't break," she said. "It just hit reality."
Aryan closed the file.
"We start again."
"How?" Sagar asked.
"By listening."
His voice was quiet.
Determined.
Bruised, but not broken.
They didn't go back to the vendors.
The vendors came to them — in the form of murmurs, side-eyes, a few words thrown across from the stalls.
Not insults.
Not hostility.
Just… history speaking.
Murthy uncle shook his head from his cart.
"Kid, many people promised 'better.' At the end, we lost money."
A younger vendor added, "You're from school. That makes it harder to trust."
Aryan listened — without defending himself this time.
Riya translated their tone softly.
"They aren't angry. They're… tired."
Aryan stepped closer, closed his file gently, and spoke in a low earnest voice:
"Okay. Then first I'll understand your problems. Your rules. Your struggles. I'll draw after that. Talk after that."
His honesty startled a few of them.
But honesty didn't magically earn trust.
Not here.
Not today.
Murthy uncle finally said, "Come again tomorrow. Let us think."
Which was their polite way of saying:
Not yet.
Aryan nodded once.
Acceptance, not defeat.
And the vendors returned to work.
The Walk After the Storm
Riya touched his shoulder lightly.
"It's not failure."
Sagar echoed, "Yeah da, tomorrow we try again."
Aryan didn't reply.
But the quiet flame in his eyes had returned.
Not confident.
Not arrogant.
Just steady.
He turned out of the narrow lane—
…and stopped.
Tanushri stood a little further down the pavement, leaning against the old notice pole near the cycle stand.
Just her — one hand in her pocket, the other holding an energy drink she was halfway through.
She hadn't been spying.
She hadn't been stalking.
She'd simply come looking for him… and ended up watching from a distance when she saw what he was doing.
Her eyes weren't sad.
They were the eyes of a senior sister who'd just seen her quite junior do something emotional while his brain loaded with logic.
When Aryan saw her, she raised her eyebrows, amused.
"So," she said, pushing off the pole, "first day of domain work… and you're already fighting the whole street?"
Aryan blinked. "…I didn't fight."
"Hm," she said, smiling, "looked like you were negotiating with twenty uncles who could out-talk a judge."
Riya suppressed a laugh.
Sagar grinned.
Tanushri walked closer, her tone lighter than the evening breeze.
"You're doing good," she said simply. "Hard. Messy. But good."
Aryan frowned a little. "They didn't agree."
"That's how the world works," she shrugged. "If it were easy, everyone would be CEO by class 5."
He looked away.
She leaned a bit, trying to catch his eyes.
"And hey," she added, tapping his file gently with her finger, "you didn't give up. That already makes you ahead of ninety percent of people."
Aryan didn't say anything.
But the shadows under his eyes eased… just slightly.
She stepped back, giving him space.
"Come on," she said, nudging her head toward the main block. "I'll walk you till the gate."
He didn't protest.
Sagar and Riya exchanged a look — half admiration, half amusement — and followed behind.
As they walked, Tanushri glanced sideways at Aryan and smiled again.
A soft, proud smile.
The kind only someone who truly cared would ever give.
The chapter ended on that simple image—
a boy with a file, walking beside someone who believed in him,
the world still heavy…
but suddenly a little easier to carry.