The day of the mid-term came faster than Vicky expected.For once, he wasn't walking into the exam hall like a man on his way to the gallows.He was still nervous—of course he was—but it wasn't the drowning kind.Just a tightness in his stomach and that little mantra he'd repeated all week:
One small thing at a time.
He sat down, the question paper face down in front of him. The invigilator's voice echoed through the room, but Vicky barely heard it. He closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and remembered Priya's message:
"You don't need to know everything. Just use what you do know."
The signal was given.He flipped the paper.
His eyes darted across the questions. Half of them looked like they had been written by aliens. His pulse jumped. The old fear tried to crawl back up—
—and then he saw Question 3.
Write a program to print the first 10 even numbers using a 'for' loop.
The for loop.His for loop.
The one thing he had drilled into his skull until it finally stuck.
He felt a small, relieved smile tug at his lips. He leaned forward and started writing. Slowly at first, then with confidence. Declare the variable. Set the loop range. Increment. Print.
Straightforward. Clean. Correct.
Not perfect—but real.
He answered what he could. He skipped what he didn't know. No panic. No fake attempts. Just honest effort.
When he stepped out of the hall, the sky felt strangely brighter.He didn't know if he'd pass.But he knew he hadn't run.He'd fought back—quietly, stubbornly—one question at a time.
His phone buzzed.
Maa:Beta, exam kaisa gaya?
Vicky typed his reply without hesitation.
Vicky:Thik tha, Maa. Ek question 100% sahi hai.(It was okay, Mom. One question is definitely correct.)
He meant it.And it felt good to mean it.
That evening, the family gathered around the TV. It was one of those rare calm nights. Still, the money issue hung in the air like a background noise you couldn't fully switch off.
"Reena, that internship in Bangalore," Vikram said, "don't worry about the cost. Hum dekh lenge."(We will manage.)
Reena immediately shook her head. "Papa, it's too expensive. I can try for something closer—"
"We will manage," he repeated softly, but firmly.
No shouting.No hopelessness.Just determination.
Vicky watched all three of them—his father's tired resolve, his mother's quiet strength, his sister's ambition fighting against responsibility—and something inside him shifted.
He could have fixed everything with one impossible shortcut.
But then this moment wouldn't exist.This togetherness.This shared resolve.
What his family was doing—supporting each other, pushing forward despite everything—was worth more than anything he could pull out of a game.
He wasn't the Guardian because of some strange power hidden in his phone.
He was the Guardian because he was willing to stand with them—one exam, one step, one effort at a time.
Tonight, for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel like he was failing them.He felt like he was walking with them.
And that was enough.