The windows were obsidian-dark—polished so perfectly they reflected the gate behind him like a mirror. There was no way to see inside. No emblem. No license plate in sight from this angle.
The car pulled up with surgical precision—no screech, no drift, just silence and intent. The engine purred too quietly. The car was too clean. Too polished. The way it braked—too sharp, too deliberate.
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
"Do not move," DL's voice crackled through his mind—voice flat, surgical, like a trigger waiting to be pulled. "Do. Not. Move. Or speak. We're about to find out if they're here for you."
Rohan's fingers curled slightly. His heart pounded like war drums. His school shirt clung to his back in patches of sweat. For a moment, he felt like he was in a spy thriller—not just a teenager waiting for a classmate.
Seconds crawled by.
Then the back window slid down halfway—just enough to reveal a sliver of shadow and gleaming eyes.
Ritika's cheerful face appeared in the gap. "What are you waiting for, dummy? Get in the car!"
Only then did Rohan notice the car's make—a black Mercedes, an expensive model—luxurious even by rich standards. A driver in a crisp white uniform sat at the front, unbothered by the exchange.
Rohan blinked in stunned silence, his brain refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. He questioned everything he thought he knew about Ritika. Who was this girl?
No showy accessories. No flaunting of wealth. She wore privilege like perfume—present, undeniable, but never sprayed in your face. Not even an expensive phone—just a simple old device. Her jewelry was minimal too—plain silver earrings, a small gold nose pin, and payals (anklets) that jingled softly when she walked. Yet here she was, arriving in a vehicle that screamed high status.
It didn't add up. He had met girls who wore branded tracksuits like war medals. Ritika didn't need labels. She was the label—and she didn't even act like she noticed.
Inside the car, the leather interior smelled faintly of sandalwood and mint. The AC was silent but crisp. The world outside felt distant—as if the car existed in its own sealed dimension, untouchable by the dust and noise of Lucknow.
As the car pulled out onto the road, Ritika chatted animatedly about last year's cultural festival and how she'd performed a semi-classical dance. She was hopeful to get a spot again this year. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she recounted the stage lights, the cheers, and the adrenaline.
Rohan listened—but not fully. His mind was split between decoding her and decoding himself. What was he doing here? What did she see in him that made her invite him over?
Rohan nodded along, smiling faintly as he watched her. But the more she spoke, the more overwhelmed he became.
And just when he thought he'd adjusted to this surreal detour in his day—
His brain nearly exploded when they finally neared her house.
No, not a house.
A mansion.
Electronic gates opened to reveal a grand structure nestled amidst trimmed lawns and flowerbeds. Two guards stood outside, each with a rottweiler beside them. Inside, a German shepherd and an American bully roamed freely, patrolling the compound like they owned it. The guards saluted Ritika's car as it entered.
He stared. Then he finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him ever since he stepped inside the car.
"What does your father do? I mean, this—this is a palace."
Ritika smiled. "My father is an air vice marshal in the Air Force. But this isn't really his money. It's my grandfather's. He owns multiple businesses—hospitals, pharmaceutical factories—all over Uttar Pradesh. He's also on the school board."
Rohan swallowed hard.
Unknowingly, he'd walked into the world of the elite. This wasn't just money. This was a legacy. Dynasty. The kind of power that shaped cities and crushed rivals in boardrooms.
DL's voice echoed in his mind: "This is nothing compared to what you'll build. You've got the Library of the Cosmos. The right knowledge can build an empire greater than any legacy. Don't shrink. Expand.
You have a mission today. Make connections. Learn. The connection you make today may benefit you tomorrow."
Rohan exhaled slowly. DL was right.
He stepped out of the car and entered the palatial home. Inside, the marble floor gleamed like moonlight. Chandeliers hung above like floating constellations. The air was scented with sandalwood and jasmine. Servants moved with clockwork precision.
One approached and took Ritika's schoolbag with a polite nod. Another brought hot towels and chilled refreshment drinks on a silver tray.
It was like walking into a five-star hotel.
Ritika smiled at him. "My laptop's in my room. Come, I'll show you—"
Before they could move, a poised woman and a middle-aged man entered the hall.
It was her mother and uncle. Since Ritika's father was a military man, his younger brother and his wife handled business under the supervision of his father.
Rohan stood up and greeted them respectfully. Ritika introduced him, telling them she had invited Rohan to help her out with some technical problems—he was brilliant in all subjects, especially computer science.
Her mother gave a subtle nod of approval. "That's fine, beta. Just don't stay up too long. And no games, alright?"
Just then, the main door creaked open.
Rohan turned and saw an older man entering—erect posture, neatly combed hair, eyes sharp like an eagle's. Ritika lit up like a Diwali lamp. She ran forward and embraced him.
"Dadu!" (paternal grandfather)
Her grandfather chuckled, embracing her with gentle affection. His eyes then shifted to Rohan, scrutinizing every inch.
"And who is this young man?" he asked.
Ritika introduced Rohan again. Rohan bent and touched his feet out of respect.
The old man raised an eyebrow. "Why is he here?"
Ritika puffed her cheeks. "I told you! He's helping me with my laptop. Stop asking every time I invite someone!"
Her grandfather gave a warm chuckle but turned to the servant. "Bring the laptop here. There's no need to go upstairs for such a trivial thing. Let's talk here."
"Please, bring something to eat," he said to no one in particular. Yet a servant, as if tuned to his frequency, nodded silently and walked toward what must have been the kitchen.
He didn't say it out loud, but the protectiveness in his tone made it clear—he pampered Ritika too much to allow a strange boy in her private space.
A few moments later, another servant arrived with the laptop.
Rohan sat on the sofa and opened the machine. His eyes widened—it was a top-of-the-line Alienware gaming laptop. The very same model he used to dream of owning when working on the jet engine project. Its specs could rival a data lab.
Yet it crawled like a snail.
Each drive was jam-packed with god-knows-what. As he navigated to check the files, he clicked on a folder labeled "Study."
As he opened it, Ritika lunged forward and snatched the laptop out of his hands.
"Hey! You can't just open other people's stuff like that!" She cried, visibly embarrassed.
But Rohan had already caught a glimpse—folders named High School DxD, Black Clover, Attack on Titan, and Haikyu!!. The kind of titles that came with equal parts fandom and judgment.
He raised both hands. "It's okay. Really. I've watched some of those too."
The room went quiet.
Her uncle and grandfather exchanged amused, confused glances. Their expressions said, 'What did he just see that embarrassed her so much?'
Rohan cleared his throat quickly. "I meant Japanese animated shows. Nothing weird."
There was a collective sigh of relief.
He explained the issue—too little free space. Her laptop's performance was choking under the weight of data.
"Either delete some files or transfer them to a hard drive," he suggested. "Then it'll run fine."
Snacks were served soon after. Tea, samosas, and biscuits on fine china.
Rohan sat back, sipping his coffee slowly.
A part of him wanted to bolt. He felt like he'd wandered into another world—a world he didn't belong in.
Would it be rude to just leave? He wondered.
DL answered bluntly, "Yes, it would. Don't be an idiot. Stay. Build rapport. This family could be important later. Focus."
Rohan sighed and stared into the dark brew of his coffee.
"I feel like I'm drowning here, he thought. And I'm supposed to care about connections?"