The project instructions were simple—create a mock stock portfolio, simulate trading for thirty days, and submit a final report. But for Ayan, this wasn't just a school assignment. This was the opportunity.
He had thirty days to work with Rhea Kapoor.
Thirty days to show her he was more than just a poor boy with cracked shoes and big dreams.
They sat together after class in the library, a quiet pocket of the school where even whispers sounded like thunder. Rhea brought her iPad. Ayan brought a pencil, a used notebook, and a thousand questions.
"So," she began, swiping through an investing app, "I usually go for low-risk, high-dividend stocks. But for this mock, we can play aggressive. Want to go high-risk, high-reward?"
Ayan blinked. "You sound like you actually enjoy this stuff."
"I do," she said, smiling. "My dad owns a few companies. I grew up hearing words like assets, shares, and liquidity at the dinner table."
Ayan nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. Her world was full of numbers that meant luxury. His world was full of numbers that screamed survival.
"How about you?" she asked. "Your parents into finance?"
"No," he chuckled, trying to hide the sting. "My mom's a tiffin vendor. My dad drives an auto. I… uh… just pack lunchboxes and read investment blogs at night."
Rhea's eyes widened, but there was no mockery in them. Just surprise. Then warmth.
"That's cool, actually," she said.
Cool?
Ayan had been called many things—"invisible," "nerd," "bottom-feeder"—but never "cool." Not until now.
Later that evening
Ayan returned home to the usual chaos. His mom was stuffing sabzi into tiffin containers while listening to an old Bollywood song. His younger brother was yelling about a broken cricket bat.
He dropped his bag, washed his hands, and jumped in to help.
"Maa, why don't we raise the price for the special paneer meals? The market's gone up," he said while sealing containers.
His mother sighed. "We'll lose customers, beta. People don't pay more unless they have to."
He nodded, but his brain buzzed with ideas.
If he could learn crypto...
If he could grow that ₹500 he saved from Diwali...
Maybe—just maybe—he could break free.
That night, after dinner, Ayan logged in to a crypto app he'd finally managed to install on his dad's old phone. It was slow and laggy, but it worked.
He took out the ₹500 hidden under his mattress. All he had.
"Please don't vanish," he whispered, transferring it into the app.
He clicked buy on a coin called Solana—he had read it was rising.
The screen froze.
Transaction complete.
And just like that, he became an investor.
Next Morning – School Grounds
"Yo, crypto boy!" a voice jeered behind him.
Ayan turned to see Arjun Malhotra, tall, smug, and as irritating as a mosquito in summer.
"You working with Rhea now?" Arjun asked, mock surprise in his tone. "Didn't know charity projects were allowed this year."
Ayan ignored him and kept walking.
But inside, something boiled. Not anger. Not shame.
Fuel.
He was tired of being looked down on.
Library – Project Session
Rhea was scribbling stock picks on a notepad. She looked up as he sat down.
"I read your blog last night."
His heart stopped. "You… what?"
"Your Medium post. The one about small savings leading to big dreams. You wrote that?"
He nodded, stunned.
"I liked it," she said. "It's real."
Real. Another word he never expected from her lips.
Before he could reply, she leaned in slightly. "Want a shortcut?"
"To what?"
"To understanding all this. I'll teach you how to read the market like a story."
Her voice was playful but kind. For a moment, Ayan forgot the world.
But even stories have villains.
From a few tables away, Arjun watched them. His jaw clenched. And somewhere deep in his chest, a new plan was forming.
That Night
Ayan refreshed his crypto app.
Solana had risen 11%.
His ₹500 was now ₹555.
His first profit.
Small.
But everything starts small…
Even empires.