The students stepped hesitantly through the grand gates, their eyes darting in every direction. The mansion loomed before them — elegant, spotless, and intimidatingly large. Even though Aria had told them to relax, some still walked stiffly, their steps careful on the marble path.
The servants, already warned of their arrival, watched curiously from a distance. A few smiled politely, while others whispered among themselves. For the KHSS students, most of whom had never set foot in a place like this, the atmosphere was overwhelming.
Some of them whispered nervously to each other, others tried to act calm — but the uncertainty was clear.
They had seen people from houses like this before, and not every experience had been kind.
Among them, Farhan walked at the very front. His eyes were wide with awe and disbelief. Every step he took was slow, almost cautious, as if the shining tiles beneath him might not even be real.
His gaze moved from one corner to another — the endless rows of luxury cars parked along the driveway, the smooth glass walls reflecting the bright morning light, the carefully shaped trees and flowerbeds. Everything was glowing, polished, perfect.
For someone who had grown up in a cramped colony, this felt like stepping into another world.
Just then, the heavy front doors opened, and a middle-aged man stepped out. He was tall, dressed neatly in formal clothes, with a warm, familiar smile spreading across his face the moment he saw her.
"Hey, baby girl!" he called out, walking straight toward Aria with open arms.
Aria's face lit up. "Uncle John!" she said happily, running to him.
He hugged her tightly. "How are you doing, sweetheart? It's been so long!"
"I missed you a lot," Aria said with a genuine smile, pulling back. Then she turned toward her friends, who were still standing awkwardly near the steps.
"These are my friends," she introduced proudly. "And you already know why we're here."
John nodded with an understanding smile. "Of course. Everything's ready — I've had a room prepared for all of you. The servants will show you the way." He glanced at his watch and sighed. "I'm really sorry, I have to rush to the office. There's something important I can't delay."
Aria smiled warmly. "No problem, Uncle. You go ahead. We'll manage everything here."
He nodded, giving her hair a quick affectionate ruffle before heading toward his car.
As the servants stepped forward to guide them inside, Aria turned back to her team — still half-stunned, half-in disbelief — and said with a playful grin,
"Well? What are you all staring at? Come on in — this is where Mission Café officially begins."
Ruby rested for a moment, gently tucking Aria's hands before joining her in leading the group. The other students followed behind as the servants guided the way through the bright corridor. Finally, they reached the room Mr. John had prepared for them — though calling it a room would be an understatement.
It was more like a grand workshop hall — spacious, modern, and beautifully arranged. Every kind of tool for pottery and carpentry was neatly placed along the shelves. There was even a study section with a luxurious design table, a snack corner filled with treats, and a small display area for finished crafts.
Farhan stood still at the entrance, completely stunned. His eyes traveled slowly around the room — from the polished tables to the high-end tools, and finally down to his own tools. He didn't say a word.
Aria walked up to him with a soft smile. "If anything's missing, just tell me, okay? I know these are advanced tools and all that… but for an artist, his own tools are the most precious. That's why I told you not to feel empty."
Farhan looked at her, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. "Of course not," he said sincerely. "I'm just… grateful you gave me the chance to work in a place like this."
Aria smiled. "Alright then, let's get started. I want five of you who know at least a little about clay pottery — or even if you don't, just follow Farhan's lead. Ruby, you'll be in charge of the clay section."
She glanced around, counting quickly. "We're twelve in total, right? Okay — including Farhan, the other five from Batch Six will take that side. Farhan will guide you all in making cups, mugs, and whatever he decides."
"Meanwhile," she continued, turning to another group, "the ones good at sketching — I already texted you yesterday — come with me. Ashwin will guide us in drawing the designs."
The students nodded excitedly, the tension lifting as they began organizing their work. Before getting started, some wandered over to the snack corner, laughing as they grabbed chips and drinks. The mood slowly shifted from nervous to cheerful — a calm, creative buzz filling the hall.
Even Ruby, who usually complained about everything — "this isn't enough," "that's too small," and so on — seemed surprisingly calm today. Or maybe it was just that Aria didn't notice her for once; she was too focused on her own task, already lost in her work.
Every student was deeply focused on their designs — the ideas that came straight from their minds, each one unique and special. Everyone in the group had an incredible talent for drawing, but Aria was in a world of her own. She didn't even glance at a reference page; everything flowed from her imagination, her hands moving gracefully across the paper.
One by one, the others finished and began sharing their work. But Aria was still busy, completely absorbed in perfecting her design. The rest waited patiently, watching her in quiet curiosity. Finally, she lifted her paper and turned it around.
Every pair of eyes widened in shock. Her artwork was breathtaking — a masterpiece.
Ashwin took the sheet gently and studied it, his brows raised in awe. "Did you… go to any art University or something?" he asked, half-joking, half-serious. "This hand feels like it belongs to a professional. No one could draw like this without serious training."
Aria looked down, smiling awkwardly. "Oh, no… I didn't go anywhere like that. I just had a small tutor at home," she said softly.
But as she spoke, her eyes reflected a quiet pain — something only she knew. The others began showering her with compliments.
"You're a born artist, Aria!" one girl said cheerfully.
Aria just laughed faintly, pretending to enjoy the praise. But behind that smile, something heavy stirred in her mind — a memory she couldn't quite escape.
Flashback____
In a vast, luxurious room filled with gold accents and chandeliers, a little girl sat at a small study table perfectly suited to her size. She looked about ten — dressed in an elegant gown, her hair neatly tied, jewelry glittering under the soft light. Everything about her screamed perfection.
But her world, at that moment, was just the sheet of paper before her. Her tiny hands moved gracefully, sketching lines that came alive under her pencil. It was a masterpiece — a portrait so lifelike it seemed the painted girl might blink at any second.
Just then, her art tutor entered the room — a tall man in a crisp coat. He walked over, expression unreadable, and looked down at her drawing. After a silent moment, he lifted the paper, studied it closely... then tore it cleanly in half.
The sound of ripping paper echoed through the room.
"No…" the child whispered, her voice trembling. Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached for the torn pieces.
Before she could speak again, another woman — a stern lady who had been standing in the corner — strode toward her. She snatched a stick from beside the table and struck the girl hard across her arm.
"Don't cry!" the woman shouted. "Crying is for the weak! You have no right to cry!"
Each word cut deeper than the blows. The child bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears, her small body trembling with pain. She curled up on the table, her breath shaking, forcing herself to stay silent.
But the beating didn't stop.
The pain grew unbearable — her world spinning, the room blurring into light and shadow. Finally, the little girl let out a broken sob, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. And as the sound of the stick faded into the background, she fell forward, her vision going dark, her small body collapsing into unconsciousness.