The bazaar was buzzing, not with trade, but with gossip. Ravi walked past the tea stalls, head lowered, hearing snickers from shopkeepers who once praised him.
At the center of it all stood Arjun, proudly arranging flashy new radios in front of his father's shop.
"See, people?" Arjun shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is why you don't trust street beggars who pretend to be businessmen. They cheat you and run. But we Sharmas—our name is older than the bazaar itself."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone muttered, "That Sen boy thought he was too big for his mat."
Ravi clenched his fists but kept walking. Confronting Arjun now would only feed him more glory. Still, Arjun's mocking smile burned into him like a brand.
That evening, Ravi slumped down beside Kaka's corner, broken tools spilling from his bag.
The old man listened as Ravi poured out the story of Chhotelal's loan, the counterfeit batteries, and the growing debt.
When he finished, Kaka shook his head slowly. "I warned you, boy. Skill feeds you. Greed bleeds you. You tried to run before learning to walk."
Ravi's throat tightened. "What should I do now? Everyone thinks I'm a cheat. The debt collectors are circling my house."
Kaka placed a trembling hand on Ravi's shoulder. His clouded eyes seemed to pierce through the darkness. "You've reached the edge of Dharampur. This town is too small for your hunger. Either you bow to men like Arjun and Chhotelal—or you walk away and carve your own road."
Ravi swallowed hard. For the first time, the thought of leaving Dharampur didn't feel like escape—it felt like destiny