The new school felt like a different country. The stark, old walls of his previous campus were replaced by modern, glass-fronted buildings. There were no harsh punishments, the teachers treated the students like adults, and the competitive atmosphere was electric, not suffocating. It was precisely the environment Aryan's parents had sought for him, a place designed to forge champions.
He threw himself into it. He had to. The aching emptiness left by Ayra's sudden departure was a wound he needed to cauterize with achievement. For the next two years, he was a machine: a relentless topper in academics and a quick-witted winner in cultural events, his oratorical skills surprising even himself.
He earned fame, respect, and a large circle of acquaintances. Objectively, he was successful. Yet, every time he stood on a small stage to receive a certificate, the cheers of the crowd sounded tinny and distant. He was winning, but he was winning alone. The worry that constantly gnawed at him, even amidst success, was the lack of genuine connection. He had friends, but none of them filled the space Ayra had occupied—the space that allowed him to be sticky-handed and silly over an ice candy.
His loneliness was obvious enough that his teachers and counselors noticed. They urged him to immerse himself, praising his dedication. He listened, and he did concentrate, but the enjoyment came only from the challenge, not from a sense of shared purpose.
Inevitably, his popularity attracted attention. The girls in his class, impressed by his sharp intellect and unexpected success in debates, started to approach him. There were shy smiles in the hallway and carefully folded notes slipped onto his desk—the classic teenage love proposals.
Aryan declined them all. He was polite, almost excessively so, accepting their offers of "just friendship" to avoid hurting their feelings. He even found himself briefly attracted to a few of them—fleeting moments of chemistry, the kind that lasted only as long as a single, engaging conversation. But those feelings always evaporated. He would talk to a girl once, feel the momentary lift of attention, and then return to his studies, isolating them immediately. They were distractions, easily compartmentalized.
The school, in its typical teenage fashion, loved a good pairing. To tease him, they started linking his name with various high-achieving girls, one of whom was Rivi. Rivi was his fiercest academic competitor, utterly different from Ayra in her sharp intensity, yet their names were coupled purely for sport. Aryan ignored it; Rivi was merely a benchmark to exceed.
But Ayra remained the ghost at his feast.
One afternoon, standing outside the school gate, Aryan spotted a familiar face—a classmate from his old school. His heart leaped, fueled by desperate hope.
"Hey! Do you know what happened to Ayra? The one who was in our class, remember?" Aryan asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
His former classmate frowned, scratching his head. "Ayra? Oh, yeah. Haven't seen her in ages. My mom said she definitely moved out of the locality. Like, far away. No one really knows where."
The information was a cold splash of water. Far away. The world suddenly felt immense, unconquerable. How could he possibly find one girl in a moving city, or maybe another state? He didn't have her number, no social media, and no leads.
He stared up at the vast, indifferent sky, a feeling of helplessness sinking into him. He felt trapped by his own insignificance. All he had left was an abstract plea to the universe. The only hope is God.
Then, the response came—not a divine voice, but a sharp, analytical thought distilled from his own ambition and his teachers' constant lecturing:
EDUCATION IS THE ONLY KEY TO COMPRESS THE WORLD.
He saw it clearly: success wasn't just about his parents' pride or financial stability anymore. It was a tool. The truly successful, famous people were known to thousands. They stood on a 100-foot high pillar of achievement, visible to everyone. If he could reach that height, if his name became synonymous with achievement, the world would shrink. Ayra—wherever she was—would eventually hear of him. Or, his influence would be wide enough to track her down.
The thought was exhilarating and chilling. It solidified his ambition into a singular, sacred mission.
To make his parents happy, to meet Ayra, and to have a beautiful life, he needs a spectacular career.
His studying was no longer a dutiful chore; it was a furious, inspired run towards that towering pillar. He needed to study in a way that didn't just earn him a degree, but made him a legend—a good student, and an inspiration whose name would travel further than he ever could alone.
The search for Ayra was officially merged with the ambition for Aryan. He had found his ultimate focus.