The bazaar in Dharampur always smelled of dust, fried pakoras, and ambition. Ravi sat cross-legged on his old mat near the bus stand, a few battered phones lined up neatly in front of him. His fingers moved quickly, prying open a back cover, swapping wires, checking circuits with the single rusted screwdriver he owned.
He had begun to draw attention. Women came with broken torches, farmers with dead radios, and schoolboys with cracked phones they couldn't show their fathers. Ravi never promised magic, but he worked hard, and sometimes that was enough.
But not everyone in the bazaar was amused.
"Look at this," a loud voice called out, dripping with mockery. "The coolie boy thinks he's an engineer now."
Ravi looked up. Arjun Sharma, son of the town's largest shopkeeper, stood with a smirk on his face. His shirt was pressed, his sandals new, and he carried himself as though the ground owed him respect. Behind him, two of his friends laughed like trained parrots.
"Fixing garbage won't make you rich, Sen," Arjun continued, picking up one of the broken phones from Ravi's mat without asking. He tossed it in the air carelessly. "These belong in the scrap yard, not in your dirty hands."
Ravi snatched the phone back, his jaw tightening. "At least I'm working with my own hands, not hiding behind my father's shop counter."
The laughter around them quieted. A few passersby stopped to watch. In Dharampur, conflict was entertainment.
Arjun's eyes narrowed. "Careful, boy. You may think you're clever, but one word from me, and no one in this bazaar will trust you again."
"I don't need your word," Ravi shot back. His voice was calm, but his fists were clenched. "All I need is time. Time to prove myself."
Arjun stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Ravi could hear. "Listen carefully, Sen. Men like me are born to rule here. Men like you… you're born to carry sacks, wipe sweat, and disappear. Don't forget your place."
Ravi met his gaze without blinking. "Maybe I was born poor, Arjun. But I wasn't born to stay poor."
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then Arjun scoffed and walked away, his friends jeering behind him.
But Ravi knew this was not the end. Dharampur was too small for both of them. And though Arjun had wealth and influence, Ravi carried something sharper—an unyielding hunger that would not let him rest.
That night, as Ravi lay awake on the hard cot beside Meera's gentle breathing, Arjun's words echoed in his mind. Born to carry sacks. Born to disappear.
Ravi whispered to himself, "One day, Arjun, you'll choke on those words."
And with that vow, a rivalry was born—one that would haunt Ravi's journey for years to come.