He stood in front of the college gate, frozen for a moment, taking it all in. The wind rustled through his hair, but inside him, a storm raged.
"My name is Aarav…" he whispered to himself. "I never imagined… I would ever join a college in my life… let alone here."
Before him lay a sight straight out of a movie scene: BMWs, Audis, Mercedes-Benz, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, Porsche Maseratis, Dodge Challengers, Mustangs, Nissan GTRs—lined up like a parade of power and wealth. From those glossy vehicles, students emerged—laughing, chatting, moving with a confidence that seemed born from money itself. Designer clothes, shining shoes, sleek backpacks—the kind of fashion Aarav had only ever seen in magazines. Their carefree laughter, their ease, the way they carried themselves… it was a world he had never known existed.
Aarav's mind reeled. This wasn't a college. This was another universe. One that he hadn't even dared to dream of in his wildest fantasies.
Girls filmed videos on their phones, flipping their hair in slow motion as if they were in a music video. Boys revved the engines of their sports cars, drawing attention, flashing smirks, commanding the space around them. Every sound, every movement screamed wealth and privilege.
For a moment, Aarav froze. "How am I supposed to fit in here…?" the thought whispered in his mind. But there was no turning back.
He hadn't come here to blend in. He had come for the truth—the truth about the girl who had been taken from him. He drew a deep breath and glanced down at his worn shoes. Then he looked up again at the golden gates. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward. Each step felt like crossing into a world that belonged to someone else, a world he had no right to enter.
Inside, everything changed. Wide marble pathways, trees lining the streets, fountains splashing water in rhythmic elegance—every corner gleamed with wealth. Students walked by like they owned the air, their expressions calm, composed, untouchable.
Aarav's eyes widened. "Are there really colleges like this…?" he thought, barely believing it.
As he moved toward the classrooms, the stares followed him—curious, dismissive, and sometimes cold with the weight of privilege. His clothes, his shoes, his very presence marked him as different. But he kept walking. He knew—this was just the beginning. Every step brought him closer to uncovering the truth. Every glance reminded him that he was in a world he had never belonged to, yet a world he had no choice but to navigate.
And as he stepped further into the campus, Aarav made a silent promise to himself: No matter what it takes, I will uncover the truth.
He walked toward the classroom slowly, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, heart a steady drum in his throat. The campus corridors felt foreign—an arcade of polished stone and glossy posters—but he had no idea where his class was. He paused, scanning faces that looked like they belonged to another world.
A girl stood nearby, leaning against a pillar with an expression that could cut glass. Summoning his courage, he walked up and asked, voice small, "Excuse me… can you tell me where room — where the class for this department is?"
She looked him up and down from head to toe, the kind of slow, assessing stare that felt like a verdict. Her lips curled. "You had the nerve to speak to me?" she said, more amused than angry. "Get lost. Go away."
Heat crept up Aarav's neck. For a second he thought he'd said something wrong, that his question itself was an offense. He retreated, shoulders folding in on themselves, the weight of being out of place gathering like a dark cloud.
Before he could slip away, another girl blocked his path. "Show me your ID," she said, voice neutral. He fumbled, held out his card. She examined it briefly, then pointed with a small, efficient gesture. "Go straight from here, take a right—your classroom's on the next corridor."
She didn't smile. She didn't look friendly. But she didn't push him away either. Aarav nodded and moved on, almost on autopilot, not daring to meet her eyes.
The classroom smelled of chalk and perfume, laughter and nerves. Rows of students watched him as if he were an uninvited guest at an exclusive party. Their looks were a mixture of curiosity and thinly veiled disdain—no surprise there. He took a seat at the back, tried to make himself small, and listened.
But the lecture drifted over his head. He hadn't studied this before; the language of luxury and entitlement was foreign to him. So he sat silently and soaked up fragments—snatches of academic terms, the cadence of polished voices, the rituals of a place that trained not just minds but images.
Two periods passed in a blur. When the bell finally released them, a lanky boy with a friendly, unbruised face dropped into the seat beside him. He had easy confidence, the kind that didn't need to announce itself.
"Where are you from?" the boy asked, casual, not in the least cruel.
Aarav hesitated, then decided to keep it honest. "I got a scholarship," he said. "That's why I'm here. I'm not rich—far from it. Don't expect me to be your friend or your entertainment. I didn't come for that."
The boy laughed—warm and quick. "Relax, man. I'm with you. Don't stress." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Rishi."
Relief washed through Aarav like rain. Rishi's presence felt like a lifeline—unexpected, solid. In a place where every smile seemed calculated and every glance cold, finding someone who said "I'm with you" without irony was like finding an open door in a locked house.