A week later, the mid-term results went up on the noticeboard.
Vicky elbowed through the crowd, his heart knocking around like it had forgotten the correct rhythm. His eyes scanned the sheet—names, numbers, red marks, green marks—until he finally found his own.
48/100
He stared at it for a long moment.
He hadn't passed.
But strangely… the disappointment didn't hit him like a punch. No sinking stomach. No shame spiraling out of control. Instead, there was something unexpected—a small, steady warmth.
He knew how little he'd understood going into that exam. He knew how hard he'd fought to answer even a handful of questions. And somehow, 48 didn't feel like failure.
It felt like the beginning of something.
Especially the 15 marks from the "for loop" question—the one thing he had wrestled with until it made sense. His one island of clarity in a sea of chaos. His one honest victory.
Vicky got on his cycle and rode home with the result tucked into his pocket. It pulled at him, but it didn't crush him. Not this time.
But when he turned onto his street, something else tugged at his thoughts—a sleek, unfamiliar car was parked outside his house. Too new, too polished to belong to anyone on their lane.
Visitors.
His stomach tightened. Visitors almost always meant bad news.
He pushed the door open—and froze.
The house was… cheerful.
His mom was buzzing around with chai. His father was smiling—a real smile, not the forced "sab theek hai" type. A well-dressed man sat on the sofa like he belonged in a bank commercial.
"Vicky! Aagaya beta!" his father said, waving him over, his tone lighter than it had been in months. "This is Mr. Mehta. My old senior."
Mr. Mehta stood up and shook Vicky's hand warmly. "So YOU are Vikram's son. Your father was one of the most reliable people I ever worked with. Never said much, but always delivered."
A memory passed over Vikram's face—embarrassed, proud, overwhelmed.
Mr. Mehta continued, "I heard about the promotion being given to someone else. And frankly, I was shocked. So I made a few inquiries."
Vicky felt his breath catch.
"There was an oversight," Mr. Mehta said simply. "A new position has opened at the Vidhyadhar Nagar extension. Assistant Branch Manager. The papers will be processed this week."
Silence fell over the room—thick, warm, unbelievable.
Vikram leaned back as if his legs had momentarily stopped working. Sneha put a hand to her mouth. Even Ankit looked stunned.
It wasn't a jackpot. It wasn't a miracle diamond.
But it was a turning point.
A real, grounded, human turning point. Born out of nothing cosmic—just someone remembering that Vikram Kumar had been honest, dependable, and quietly excellent for years.
Later, after Mr. Mehta left and Sneha ordered gulab jamuns in a burst of happiness, Reena nudged Vicky aside.
"See?" she said softly. "Good things do happen. They just… take time."
Vicky nodded, watching his father laugh—a laugh that had been missing for weeks. The lines on his mother's face had relaxed. The house felt lighter, like someone had opened a window and let fresh air in.
He was happy.
Deeply happy.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, a small thought flickered:
Coincidence? Luck? Or something nudging the universe so he wouldn't pick up the phone again?
He shook the thought away.It didn't matter.
Some battles didn't need magic. Some victories were built slowly, patiently, by people who kept showing up.
His father had earned this.His family had earned this.
And for once, Vicky didn't feel the pressure to be the invisible savior. He didn't feel the need to dig for diamonds or tempt fate.
He felt content to be exactly where he was—at the dining table, eating syrupy gulab jamuns, surrounded by laughter that didn't feel forced anymore.
The power was still with him. Quiet. Dormant. A sleeping dragon in his pocket.
But today proved that not every dragon needs waking.
The real world—with all its struggles, its small wins, its unexpected kindness—was enough.
For now, that was all Vicky needed.