By the time Aditya turned ten, he was no longer the wide-eyed toddler clinging to his father's fingers. He had grown into a thoughtful, slightly shy boy with tousled black hair, sun-kissed skin, and a curious gaze that often wandered beyond the borders of his classroom window. The world outside fascinated him — the bustling market, the rusted repair shop near the bus stand, the quiet railway tracks that sliced through the town like a sleeping giant.
School had become a rhythm he danced to without complaint. Government School No. 14 in Bhairavpur was far from perfect. The classrooms were crowded, the desks were chipped, and the ceiling fans squeaked annoyingly during summer months. But for Aditya, it was a temple of stories. Every subject brought a new world: numbers became puzzles, history unfolded like a grand epic, and science felt like magic made real.
His teacher, Mr. Tripathi, had noticed the spark early. "Aditya, tumhara dimaag tez hai," he once said after a math quiz. "Tumhein sirf direction chahiye."
That single sentence stuck with Aditya for days. Direction. The word became a mantra.
---
At home, things were as modest as ever. Meera's tailoring had picked up slightly, and Ramesh had been promoted to a senior clerk. The extra income allowed them to buy a second-hand television, a black-and-white one with a stubborn antenna. On Sunday mornings, Aditya would watch 'Shaktimaan' and dream of being someone powerful — not with fists or capes, but with knowledge.
One day, he told his parents, "Main bade hokar kuch aisa karna chahta hoon jisse logon ki madad ho. Machines banani hain."
Ramesh smiled proudly. "Toh engineer ban ja, beta. Machines ke doctor hote hain engineer."
From that moment, the word 'engineer' became a beacon. Aditya didn't know exactly what it meant to design a bridge or fix a turbine, but he knew it was something he wanted to be. Something he needed to be.
---
In fifth grade, Aditya made his first real friend: Zaid.
Zaid was the polar opposite of Aditya. Loud, impulsive, and full of wild ideas. He was the kind of boy who'd climb trees barefoot, chase stray dogs for fun, and argue with teachers with cheeky grins. But he had a heart of gold, and an unspoken understanding formed between the two.
"Tu toh seedha scientist banega," Zaid often teased.
"Aur tu?"
"Main toh tujhse setting karwa lunga, boss."
They were inseparable. From sharing tiffins to studying under street lamps during power cuts, their bond became legendary in the colony.
---
As Aditya entered his teens, life began to shift gears. Puberty brought confusion, awkwardness, and questions he didn't know how to ask. He noticed Meera graying at the temples and Ramesh coming home with more exhaustion than usual. They never complained, but Aditya sensed the weight of their sacrifices.
He started waking up earlier, helping Meera with chores, and trying to teach younger kids in the colony for pocket money. He never asked his parents for extra money, not even when his shoes tore or his compass box cracked.
One evening, Ramesh found him sketching a building design on a scrap piece of paper.
"Yeh kya hai?"
"Aapke liye ek naya ghar," Aditya said with a sheepish grin.
Ramesh ruffled his hair. "Jab tu sach mein engineer banega, tab yeh sapna pura karna. Tab tak padhai mein mann lagaa."
Aditya nodded solemnly. He had always been a quiet dreamer, but now he was becoming a silent doer.
---
In seventh grade, the school announced a district-level science competition. The theme was 'Sustainable Living'. Mr. Tripathi encouraged Aditya to participate.
"Ek simple model bana ke dikha. Something practical."
Aditya worked day and night, using old wires, cardboard, and batteries from broken toys to build a model of a self-watering plant system. Zaid helped him paint it and prepare a short speech.
The competition was held in a bigger school in the city. Aditya had never seen such a place — gleaming floors, smartly dressed kids, teachers who spoke fluent English.
He felt out of place. Small. Invisible.
But when his turn came, he stood straight and presented in slow but clear Hindi. He explained every part of his model, answered the judges' questions, and ended with, "Yeh chhoti soch ek bade badlav ki shuruaat ho sakti hai."
The audience clapped. Not just politely, but genuinely.
He didn't win the first prize. But he got a 'Special Mention' certificate. When he brought it home, Meera placed it above the TV like it was a trophy.
"Yeh toh shuruaat hai, Aditya," she said, tears brimming.
---
By the time Aditya turned thirteen, he had begun tutoring younger kids for real. Word spread quickly: "Aditya bhaiya sab kuch samjha dete hain." He charged five rupees per session, sometimes nothing at all if the kid couldn't pay. It wasn't much, but it gave him a sense of purpose.
He bought his own notebooks, helped fix the leaky roof, and even gifted Meera a new dupatta on her birthday.
That night, Meera cried silently.
"Kya hua maa?"
"Kuch nahi. Khushi ke aansu hain."
---
Despite the growing challenges, one thing remained unchanged: the rain. Every year, without fail, the sky cried on his birthday. And every year, Meera would remind him, "Tere saath hi baarish aayi thi. Yeh toh teri pehchaan hai."
Aditya had started believing it too. Rain meant something. A sign. A reminder that he was meant to keep moving forward, no matter how muddy the roads got.
One afternoon, as he and Zaid sat on the school rooftop after a heavy downpour, watching the clouds drift, Zaid asked, "Tu itna mehnat kyun karta hai, bhai? Kabhi thakta nahi?"
Aditya smiled. "Thakta hoon. Par rukta nahi. Sapne dekhne walon ko rukne ki ijaazat nahi hoti."
Zaid nodded slowly. "Tu sach mein kuch banega, Adi. Main jaanta hoon."
And in that moment, under a grey sky smeared with light, two boys sat drenched in rain and dreams. One chasing a future. The other cheering him on.
Aditya didn't know where life would take him. But he had begun to dream not just of becoming an engineer — but of rising high enough to rewrite the destiny of his family.
And in that small, forgotten town of Bhairavpur, a boy quietly laid the foundation of a life that would one day inspire many.
This was only the beginning of the first step.
The first dream had taken flight.