The ceiling fan creaked like it might fall at any moment.
Aarav Verma lay on the thin mattress, staring at the spinning blades, counting how many rotations it took before his mind drifted back to the same thought.
Money.
It always came back to money.
The room was small—too small for an eighteen-year-old boy with dreams bigger than the cracked walls around him. One corner held a rusted metal cupboard. Another had a study table with one broken leg, balanced by a stack of old newspapers. On the floor, beside the mattress, lay his most precious possession.
A second-hand smartphone.
The screen had a spiderweb crack running across it, cutting through everything it displayed like a scar that refused to heal. The back cover was loose, held together by transparent tape that had turned yellow with age.
Yet to Aarav, it might as well have been gold.
Because inside that phone was the only place where he wasn't poor..
Where he wasn't useless.
Where he wasn't invisible.
He picked it up and unlocked the screen. The battery was at 23%. Enough for maybe thirty minutes if he was lucky. Less if the internet decided to betray him again.
"Live: OFFLINE."
He swallowed.
Outside the room, he could hear the familiar sounds of evening life in their tiny house. The clinking of utensils. The low murmur of the television playing some serial his mother never missed. His father's tired cough as he returned from another long shift at the factory.
And his sister.
"Aarav!" Ananya's voice rang out. "Did you eat the rotis or are you planning to starve again?"
"I'll eat later," he replied automatically.
"You said that yesterday too," she shot back. "And the day before that.".
Aarav smiled weakly.
His sister was beautiful—not in the glamorous, social-media way, but in the way people noticed when she entered a room. Long hair she usually tied in a messy ponytail. Sharp eyes that saw through lies. A warmth that made others feel safe.
She was also the one who sacrificed the most for him.
That knowledge sat heavy in his chest.
"Coming," he lied.
Instead, he adjusted the phone on a pile of books, angling it toward the corner of the room where the lighting was slightly better. The bulb above flickered, threatening to give up at any moment.
No mic.
No camera stand.
No gaming setup.
Just him, his phone, and an old pair of earphones with one side not working.
Aarav opened the streaming app.
His finger hovered over the Go Live button.
This is stupid, a voice in his head whispered.
Who will watch you?
You're bad at studies.
Bad at sports.
Bad at talking to people.
The only thing you're good at doesn't even matter in real life.
He clenched his jaw.
Except… when he played games, something inside him changed.
His hands moved faster than his thoughts. His instincts kicked in before logic. He didn't panic. He didn't hesitate. He understood the game in a way he never understood textbooks or social rules.
In games, the world made sense.
"Aarav."
His father's voice came from the doorway.
Aarav flinched and turned.
Rakesh Verma stood there, still wearing his faded work shirt, sweat stains darkening the fabric. His face looked older than it should have, lines carved deep by years of responsibility.
"You didn't eat," his father said, not accusing—just tired.
"I will," Aarav replied quickly, lowering the phone slightly. "Just… give me five minutes."
Rakesh's eyes fell on the phone. He knew. Of course he knew.
That phone had cost him two extra night shifts and a bruised back.
"Does this… streaming thing really matter that much to you?" his father asked quietly.
Aarav hesitated.
This was the moment.
If he lied, he might get scolded.
If he told the truth, he might disappoint him even more.
"Yes," Aarav said finally, his voice firm despite the fear shaking inside him. "It's the only thing I'm good at."
Silence filled the room.
Then Rakesh nodded once.
"Five minutes," he said. "Don't let the battery die."
He turned and walked away.
Aarav stared at the doorway long after his father left.
His chest felt tight.
I won't waste this, he promised silently.
He straightened his posture, wiped his face, and looked into the cracked screen.
His finger tapped Go Live.
The screen blinked.
"Connecting…"
The fan creaked.
The internet lagged.
The screen froze for a second.
Then—
LIVE
"Viewers: 0"
Aarav took a deep breath.
"Uh… hey," he said, his voice awkward, unused to being heard. "Welcome to the stream."
No response.
Of course not.
He started the game anyway.
His fingers moved.
His focus sharpened.
The room disappeared.
Ten minutes passed.
Then, at the corner of the screen, a tiny number changed.
Viewers: 1
Aarav didn't notice.
He was too busy playing like his life depended on it.
And somewhere, behind another screen, someone stopped scrolling.
And watched.