Parvathi Aunty
They moved to pani puri aunty next.
She saw them and immediately clicked her tongue.
"Again you came?"
"We came to buy, aunty," Sagar said quickly. "Three plates. Full spicy for her."
Riya glared. "Medium," she corrected.
They ate standing near the cart.
Aryan waited till the first rush passed.
Only then he spoke.
"Aunty… yesterday I spoke wrongly," he said.
She scoffed. "At least you know."
"I didn't respect that you know this gate better than any teacher," he continued.
Her hand paused over the puri basket.
"Hmm," she said. "Correct. I know where who will stand without seeing."
"So…" he said, "can you tell me? I'm trying to understand gate properly. How you see it."
She gave him a suspicious look.
"What will you do with that?"
"Maybe nothing," Aryan said honestly. "Maybe something. But I can't decide until I see like you."
That made her snort.
"Big-big words," she muttered. But there was less heat this time.
She scooped sev, poured pani, handed plates, spoke between movements.
"Morning time is mothers and small kids," she said. "They come from tuition, buy something small. Lunch break is your fellows. They never have money, always borrow. Evening is tuition crowd and tuition teachers. They pay properly."
Aryan wrote fast.
> morning: small kids + mothers → low ticket
lunch: school students → inconsistent money
evening: tuition crowd → steady
"Police come?" Riya asked quietly.
"Sometimes," Parvathi said. "They say 'move little' or 'cart is too close.' Some days they come for money. I give. What to do?"
"School?" Aryan asked.
"School complains only when parents shout," she said. "Last year one car person shouted 'dirty, move this rubbish.' Then one circular came. For one week, we had to stand far. Dropped sales. Then slowly we came back."
Riya's jaw tightened.
Aryan noted:
> school reacts only after complaints
vendors adjust silently → no one records damage
He looked up.
"Aunty… if someone came and said 'we will give you permanent place, fixed rent, safety, lights'… what would you say?"
She thought.
"Who is that someone?"
"School."
"Then I will ask," she said, rolling another puri, "'who will guarantee next principal won't say I don't want you? Who will write my safety in paper?'"
Her eyes were sharp now.
Not angry.
Sharp.
"Because your school changes staff," she said. "We don't change gate."
Aryan wrote in big letters:
> they don't trust people, they trust places
It hit something deep.
Because he didn't trust people fully either.
He trusted systems.
And they were asking for the same thing, in another language.
"My project has no power to write anyone's safety in paper," he admitted.
"Then don't make empty promises," she said.
"I won't," he replied.
Something in his voice made her glance at him a second time.
"You really are doing this seriously, ah?" she muttered.
He nodded once.
"Stupid fellow," she said softly.
But the corners of her mouth had softened.
---
Salman
By the time they reached Salman's juice cart, Riya's notebook had more scribbles than any normal "competition research" needed.
She told herself it was just data.
But the tightness in her chest said otherwise.
Salman wiped his hands and leaned against his cart.
"You came again," he said. "Got scolding or not?"
"Not yet," Aryan said.
"Then today is lucky for you."
He handed them three paper cups without asking for payment yet.
"You said yesterday you can't promise stability," Salman reminded him. "Still true?"
"Yes," Aryan said.
"Good." Salman smiled faintly. "At least you are consistent."
He sipped his own juice.
"So what do you want today?"
"Timings," Aryan said. "And… your costs."
Salman raised an eyebrow.
"You'll steal my business idea, ah?"
"If I knew how to sell juice, I would be doing that right now," Aryan said.
Riya almost choked on her drink.
Salman laughed.
"Fair," he said. "Okay. Listen."
He listed it out in surprisingly clean order.
"Morning, eight to ten — low sales. Parents, some teachers. Afternoon, one to two — students. After five — tuition kids, main money."
Aryan noted.
"Costs," Salman went on. "Ice, sugar, fruit, glass, gas, stand rent for festival, bribe sometimes… profit is not what people think."
Riya frowned.
"Wait," she said. "You pay… bribe also?"
"Not always," Salman said. "Sometimes someone comes, says 'we will let you stay, give little.' If we say no, they create problem. If we say yes, money goes. We're stuck."
"Did school ever help?" Aryan asked.
Salman gave a small, humorless smile.
"School is busy helping itself."
Silence settled for a moment.
Crowd thinned.
Wind picked up dust from the road.
Aryan looked at his notes.
Then at the three carts.
Then at the cars squeezing past the corner.
His "Vendor Support Area" looked less like a neat box now and more like a negotiation zone full of bruises.
It didn't make him drop the idea.
It made the idea heavier.
---
The Offer He Didn't Take
By the time they started back toward the main road, the sky had gone orange.
Sagar walked a half-step ahead, kicking a stone absently, glancing back at Aryan now and then.
"You look like your brain is full," he said.
"It is," Aryan replied.
Riya slowed to walk beside him.
"You realize," she said, "this is more work than needed for a school pitch."
"I know," he said.
"Most people would just stand at the gate, count people, write 'safety' and 'profit' and go."
"I know," he repeated.
She studied him for a second.
"I don't know if you're stupid or dangerous," she muttered.
"Both," Sagar said from ahead.
Riya huffed a small laugh.
They turned the corner near the cycle stand.
Tanushri was there.
Not waiting.
Just talking with a friend, one foot resting on the low wall, bag hanging off her shoulder.
She spotted them first.
"Eh," she called. "Domain warriors."
Sagar grinned and waved.
Riya gave a small respectful nod.
Aryan just lifted his chin in greeting.
"How was round two?" she asked, falling into step beside Aryan as they walked toward the main gate.
"Loud," he said.
"Good. If your project is quiet, it's probably useless," she said.
She listened as Sagar, more talkative, gave a quick summary.
"Today he didn't show map," Sagar said. "Just asked questions. Vendors… still suspicious. But less biting."
"Progress," she said.
She looked at Aryan.
"You okay?"
He nodded.
"You're doing good," she said simply. "Most people your age don't even know where their school gate is. They go auto, come auto."
He didn't answer.
She let it go.
As they neared the main block, she nudged his arm gently with her elbow.
"If it gets too much," she said lightly, "I'm there, okay? Senior discount. Free consultancy."
Her tone was teasing.
But the offer underneath was real.
Aryan's reply was soft.
"I'll manage," he said.
No attitude.
No arrogance.
Just habit.
Tanushri heard it.
Something small in her chest pinched.
But she only smiled, bright and easy.
"Of course you will," she said.
She reached out and flicked the edge of his file.
"Still. Offer is there. Use if brain overloads."
Then she turned off toward the senior block, waving once over her shoulder.
Sagar watched her go.
"Your akka is nice," he said.
"Hmm," Aryan replied.
In his head, he added one more invisible note to all the others:
> Help exists. I'm the one who doesn't take it
He didn't write that one on paper.
But it was there.
---
That night, his notebook pages were full.
Not of profit margins.
Not of neat solutions.
Just lines like:
> they fear being moved again
they fear fake promises more than no promises
they want place, not speeches
school is both enemy & hope for them
He drew three tiny boxes at the bottom of the page.
One for Murthy.
One for Parvathi.
One for Salman.
Under each, he wrote their biggest fear in one line.
> Murthy → "our life is not your assignment" → don't make him project
Parvathi → "who will write my safety?" → wants protection beyond people
Salman → "don't play with lives" → wants stability, not only 'better'
The pitch in his head was changing.
It couldn't just be:
"I will clean your gate and make money."
It had to be:
"I will show the school that you are part of this gate's life. I will write it in a way they can't ignore. And if they approve, I'll make sure the first thing they protect… is you."
He didn't know how yet.
He only knew that without that, any "Vendor Support Area" would just be another pretty trap.
He closed the notebook.
The roof dripped once in the corner.
He looked at the stain and thought, not for the first time:
If I can fix their place…
Maybe I can fix ours.
Or at least… stop it from getting worse.
He lay down, tired in body but sharper in mind than at the start of the week.
Outside, autos rattled. Somewhere a dog barked.
Inside, Aryan's world shifted by half an inch.
Not because he'd won.
But because, for the first time, the street had given him something.
Not approval.
Not trust.
Just… information.
It was a small thing.
The world didn't owe him even that much.
But it had given it anyway.
And tomorrow, he would go back.
Not to convince.
Not yet.
Just to listen again—
and slowly, carefully,
turn their lives into a pitch that didn't insult them.
A pitch that the school would have to hear.
Whether it liked it or not.