The night breeze carried the faint hum of traffic as Ashburn stared at his phone screen, reading the message again and again.
> "Ashburn? This is Kinat. From university. Do you still donate to the Ashrock Welfare Fund?"
Her name tugged at a half-forgotten part of his past — memories of crowded classrooms, the smell of chalk, the way she always raised her hand first when professors asked questions. She had been kind, outspoken, and impossible to dislike.
They'd talked a few times, mostly about assignments and volunteer work. She had once said, "Even a small good deed can ripple into someone's miracle."
Ashburn had laughed back then. He didn't now.
He typed and erased his reply three times before finally sending:
> "Yes, I still do. How have you been?"
The reply came quickly.
> "Still fighting the same old battles. Can we meet? I'm visiting Ashrock for a short time."
His pulse quickened — not romantically, not yet, but with the uneasy excitement of life connecting threads he didn't expect to meet again.
---
The next morning began with chaos.
Sami had forgotten to note down half the new deliveries, and their father was grumbling about missing invoices.
Ashburn rubbed his eyes. "We need to organize the stockroom before it swallows us whole."
Sami yawned. "Then hire someone! I'm your brother, not your employee."
"Exactly," Ashburn muttered, "you're the most expensive unpaid worker in the city."
Their mother laughed from the kitchen. "Beta, at least let him have tea before you start your lectures."
Ashburn smiled, but his mind was already elsewhere. Between the growing store and the upcoming 60-day evaluation, things were moving fast. Still, the thought of meeting Kinat kept circling back like a persistent echo.
---
That afternoon, under the burning sun, he walked to the main market's new plaza — the city's small but bustling center of progress. Cafés, mini-marts, and solar stalls lined the street.
Kinat was already there, sitting under the shade of a small juice stall, scrolling through her phone. She looked almost the same — same calm eyes, same confident way of sitting, though maybe a little more tired than he remembered.
"Ashburn Khan," she greeted with a smile that reached her eyes. "Still surviving in the desert?"
He grinned. "Surviving and improvising."
They ordered sugarcane juice, and the small talk began. She told him about her life in the city — the welfare work, the overcrowded slums, the orphan shelter she helped manage.
"You used to donate regularly," she said, "then you just stopped."
Ashburn hesitated. "Things got… complicated. Family, business, life. You know how it goes."
"I understand," she said softly. "But I'm glad you're doing something of your own now. Most people from our batch ran off to bigger cities."
He nodded, pride mixing with weariness. "Someone has to build something here too."
---
As they talked, a group of children selling roses approached. One boy offered a single flower, shyly. Kinat smiled, bought it, and tucked it into an empty glass.
Ashburn caught himself smiling at that small act. Some people didn't change — she was still the same Kinat who once shared her lunch with the janitor's son back in university.
"Still can't say no to helping someone, can you?" he said.
"Still can't resist teasing me, can you?" she shot back, eyes gleaming.
The air between them softened — friendly, familiar, but with a quiet spark neither acknowledged aloud.
---
By evening, Ashburn returned to his store, mind buzzing.
He had an evaluation timer running — 52 days left — and a new goal: Improve logistics and market reach.
But now, the word "reach" felt broader. Maybe it didn't just mean business; maybe it meant impact.
Still, reality demanded focus. The store was growing faster than he'd planned.
He had to find better suppliers, hire help, maybe even buy a small delivery bike.
As he reorganized the shelves, the faint hologram flickered before him:
> [Fortune Ledger – Status: Active]
Progress: 9%
Tip: Long-term success requires scalable foundations.
He frowned. "I'm trying, alright? It's not like I can clone myself."
From the counter, Sami replied, "Who are you talking to?"
Ashburn blinked. "Myself."
"Great," Sami muttered. "He's finally gone mad."
---
The next week, he pushed harder.
He drew simple maps marking delivery routes, struck deals with two wholesalers for consistent supply, and rented a small storage room beside their house.
He also convinced a local boy, Arif, to work part-time as a delivery helper.
Arif was quick, polite, and only occasionally disappeared to play cricket mid-shift.
"Progress," Ashburn muttered as he watched the boy pedal away with boxes tied to his bike. "Not perfect, but progress."
Still, fatigue clung to him. Balancing ambition and survival was no joke — one late shipment could ruin a week's worth of sales.
---
One night, as he was closing shop, his phone buzzed again.
> "We're organizing a food drive this weekend," Kinat had texted.
"Would you like to help? Even if it's just spreading the word."
He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.
The Ledger's earlier warning echoed in his memory — investment funds can't be used for charity.
He still had some personal profit left, but barely enough to cushion emergencies.
He typed, erased, and finally replied:
> "I'll see what I can do."
As he pocketed the phone, the holographic line shimmered faintly again.
> [New Event Detected: External Influence – Humanitarian Choice]
[No automatic guidance available. Observe. Decide. Act.]
Ashburn stared at the fading text, exhaling slowly. "So it begins."
---
The next morning, Kinat came by the store for the first time.
She walked in wearing a simple white scarf and a clipboard in hand, looking around the newly arranged aisles.
"This place has changed," she said, smiling. "It used to feel sleepy. Now it feels alive."
Ashburn chuckled. "That's because it's run by a very underpaid visionary."
"Underpaid?" she teased. "That means you're earning, though."
He grinned. "Barely. But it's a start."
They talked about her project — helping flood-hit families in a nearby district. They needed food packets, medicine, and bottled water.
Ashburn felt a tug in his chest. Flood victims. Supplies. Logistics.
Those were exactly the same things he was dealing with every day — just for profit, not survival.
Kinat handed him a pamphlet. "Even small help matters. I know you're busy, but—"
He interrupted gently. "I'll think about it, Kinat. I promise."
And he meant it.
---
That night, he sat alone in his room, staring at the faint glowing counter:
> [Days Remaining: 49]
[Capital Used: ₹87,000]
[Progress: 14%]
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Profit or purpose. You're really going to make me choose, aren't you?"
Outside, thunder rolled faintly across the desert sky — the kind that promised rain but rarely delivered.
Ashburn looked out the window and whispered to himself, "Maybe it's time to bring some rain myself."