The corridor smelled of damp uniforms and chalk. Students rushed past in noisy groups, comparing timetables, arguing about domains, bragging about marks.
Amid all that noise, Aryan and Sagar walked side by side — slow, unhurried — like the chaos around them didn't belong to them at all.
Sagar was talking, as usual.
"Orientation for Business & Management… they said it'll be in the assembly hall. Big people may come, da. Last time seniors said one guest from DHARA HQ came."
He spoke with a mix of excitement and nerves, hands moving as if he had to guide the words out.
Aryan hummed lightly, not committing to anything.
"But I still don't get it," Sagar continued.
"Everyone says management is tough… like real corporate stuff. If they say 'present,' you have to present. If they say 'plan,' you have to plan. It's too much, no?"
Aryan watched the floor tiles as they walked. His head throbbed again — a sharp sting behind his eye, like someone twisting something inside. He pressed his fingers lightly to his temple.
Sagar noticed immediately.
"You're getting it again?" he asked softly.
Aryan didn't look up. "Hmm."
"You should really check with the doctor again," Sagar said, voice dropping. "This is happening too often."
"I already went," Aryan muttered. "He said I'm perfectly normal."
The way he said normal — flat, irritated — made his frustration clear.
A child's anger, quiet but real.
Sagar slowed down, concern pulling at his eyebrows.
"But… it's not normal, da. It's hurting you every day."
Aryan didn't answer.
He wasn't ignoring — he simply didn't have words for pain he couldn't explain.
They reached the end of the corridor. Two boys ran past them yelling something about football; someone dropped a bottle; a senior shouted from the stairs; everything moved too fast around them.
But Aryan remained still inside.
After a long moment, Sagar exhaled and asked the question he'd been holding.
"Da… are you sure you want Business & Management? You can still change today. Science suits you more, no?"
Aryan brushed his hair away from his forehead, eyes still distant.
"I still owe a battle to her, right?"
The sentence dropped between them like a stone into a quiet pond.
Sagar stopped walking.
For a full second, he just… froze — blank expression, unmoving — but his eyes told everything.
A memory.
A silence.
A question he didn't want to reopen.
Because "her" only meant one person to him.
A girl who used to walk beside him without talking much.
A girl he understood without trying.
A girl who left at the end of Class 3, leaving both of them standing in a quiet place inside themselves they never spoke about.
He swallowed once.
"I… I didn't expect you to say that," he admitted.
Aryan didn't reply.
Some feelings don't need explanation.
They walked again.
Sagar tried to smile it off, tapping Aryan's shoulder.
"You and your battles, da… you're always like this."
Aryan didn't deny it.
A group of boys from their class passed them, arguing about Pokémon.
"Ash lost again, macha!"
"No, bro, he almost won!"
Sagar softened.
His voice regained its warmth.
"Speaking of that…" he said, nudging Aryan lightly. "Did you watch yesterday's battle?"
Aryan finally looked up — the headache still there, but his eyes clearer.
"Hmm," he said. "Pikachu tried. Shouldn't have used Iron Tail first."
Sagar grinned.
"Exactly what I thought!"
For a moment, they were just two boys again — walking, talking, existing in their small world.
But behind Aryan's stillness, one truth pulsed quietly:
He wasn't choosing Business & Management for ambition.
Not for competition.
Not for glory.
He was choosing it because somewhere in his heart…
he still lived in a moment that refused to fade.
By the time Aryan and Sagar reached the staircase, the corridor outside Class 5 had thinned. Most students had already headed to the auditorium for the senior orientation. The hum of voices drifted from upstairs — louder, sharper, older.
Aryan pressed his fingers lightly to his temple again.
The headache hadn't stopped since morning. It came in waves — sharp enough to blur a few steps, gentle enough to pretend he was fine.
Sagar walked beside him, adjusting his backpack straps. "Da… if you don't want to attend, tell ma'am. You're looking tired."
"I'm fine," Aryan said.
It wasn't convincing.
It wasn't meant to be.
They climbed the stairs.
The auditorium had already filled with seniors from Classes 7 and 8. Some sat in neat rows. Some stood chatting near the back. A few sport students were balancing a basketball between their feet while pretending to listen.
Right in the center of it all stood Tanushri.
Class 8.
Sarasvathi High's senior-most topper.
Confident without needing to show it.
A girl whose smile made people naturally drift toward her.
She was explaining something to a group of juniors when her eyes accidentally swept toward the entrance.
She froze.
Then brightened.
"ARYAN!" she called, waving both arms high.
"Here! Come here!"
A few heads turned.
Aryan stiffened.
Spotlight.
Attention.
He hated that.
But she was his sister.
So he walked.
Sagar followed quietly.
Tanushri reached them first, pulling Aryan into a half-hug. "How are you, kanna? You look tired."
"I'm fine Akka," Aryan replied, his default line.
Sagar betrayed him instantly.
"No he's not, akka," he said. "He's had a headache since morning."
Aryan shot him a quiet glare — the "seriously, da?" kind.
Tanushri's face tightened with worry. "Again? Did you take a tablet? Did you tell Amma?"
"It's… normal," Aryan muttered.
"It's NOT normal," she said firmly. "You don't get headaches like other kids."
Her tone softened again. "Come… sit with me."
She guided both of them toward the corner seats.
"Today was your domain selection, right?" she asked while sitting down. "What did you guys choose?"
Sagar answered. "Me — Science. Him—"
"Business and Management," Aryan finished.
Tanushri blinked.
"You—what?"
Aryan nodded once.
She leaned back, processing it. "That's… unexpected. But okay. If you chose it seriously, then I'm proud."
Her expression changed — shifting into something older, wiser.
"You know what that path is like, right? It's the corporate world. Pressure. Presentation. Real-time decisions. Projects from DHARA. If you panic even once—"
"I know," Aryan said quietly.
"Do you?" she asked gently.
Aryan didn't answer.
So she continued, explaining the world he had stepped into.
"Business and Management is not like the others. Science builds models. Arts performs. Sports plays. But we—"
She tapped her chest.
"—we run everything."
Her voice lowered.
"It's real corporate work. Real deadlines. Real stress. DHARA wants to see how you lead, how you think, how you handle failure. Scholarship amounts are high — that's why schools push it."
Aryan listened, his face steady but the pain behind his eyebrow growing sharper.
He breathed slowly.
Calm.
Controlled.
Tanushri noticed.
"Hey…" she softened her tone. "If it's too much, I'll slow down."
"No," Aryan said. "I want to know."
She smiled — warm, proud.
"That's my brother."
Then her voice lowered again.
"You must have a reason to choose this domain. Not everyone chooses this unless they have a goal."
Aryan looked away.
The reason drifted like old memory — Meenakshi drawing Doraemon on the first page of her notebook… and a silent moment he owed her.
"For that unfinished battle," he murmured.
"And… for a better future."
Tanushri's lips parted slightly.
"Aryan…"
But he didn't continue.
He didn't need to.
Behind them, juniors chattered. Seniors compared last year's projects. A teacher tested the mic. Someone from DHARA arranged files on the table.
Life moved around him.
Only his head pulsed like a dull drum.
Tanushri understood something without him saying it.
"You don't have to be anyone else," she said quietly.
"You don't have to match anyone. Not even the girl you're thinking about."
Aryan didn't react, but his fingers tightened on his knee.
"And listen," she added, brushing his hair aside like she did when he was five.
"No matter what domain you choose… you're not alone."
He looked at her — just for a second.
She smiled again — the kind of smile that made even a breaking head feel lighter.
"Orientation is about to start," she said. "Sit beside me."
He nodded.
Sagar, who had been listening quietly, leaned in. "Da… if you faint, I'll tell ma'am you were trying to act cool."
Aryan almost sighed. "I won't faint."
"Okay," Sagar said. "Then I'll just say you were acting dramatic."
Despite everything, Aryan's lips twitched — the closest he came to a smile in public.
The lights dimmed.
The projector flickered to life.
And Aryan, head pounding, eyes steady, sat straight.
Ready for the world he had chosen.
Ready for a battle only he understood.