In a narrow lane of a crowded town stood a small house with pale blue walls. The paint had started peeling from the corners, and during monsoon, water used to drip from the ceiling into steel bowls placed carefully on the floor.
This house did not look special. In fact, people passed by it every day without noticing it.
But inside this house lived dreams bigger than the sky.
Seventeen-year-old Aman lived here with his parents and younger sister.
Every morning, Aman woke up not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
At 5:30 AM, before the sun rose, before the birds started chirping, before the town came alive — Aman was already awake.
Not to study.
Not to exercise.
But to fill water.
The government tap at the end of the lane ran only for 40 minutes every morning. If he got late, the family would have no water for the day.
He rubbed his sleepy eyes, picked up two heavy buckets, and walked towards the tap where a line of people had already gathered.
Some were half asleep. Some were arguing about whose turn was first. Some were silently staring at the ground like life had already tired them.
Aman stood quietly.
He had learned early in life that arguing wastes energy, and he needed all his energy to survive the day.
When he returned home, his mother was already in the kitchen making tea.
His father sat on the old wooden chair, reading yesterday's newspaper. He read it every day as if the news might change.
"Water le aaya?" his mother asked without turning.
"Haan," Aman replied.
That was enough conversation for the morning.
This was how every day started.
No excitement. No variation. Just routine.
But inside Aman's mind, a storm lived.
He was in Class 12. Everyone around him talked about future, career, college, dreams.
But Aman's thoughts were different.
He thought about electricity bills.
He thought about his father's cough that never went away.
He thought about his sister's school fees.
He thought about how long they could survive like this.
Dreams were a luxury his family could not afford.
---
That morning, while leaving for school, his mother handed him a small lunch box.
"Sabzi kam hai aaj. Adjust kar lena," she said softly.
Aman nodded.
He never complained about food. Hunger was something he had trained himself to ignore.
The road to school was dusty and long. Some students came on bikes. Some in cars. Aman walked.
Not because he liked walking.
But because bus fare saved meant vegetables for dinner.
On the way, he crossed a big coaching institute building with large posters:
"Crack IIT!"
"Become a Doctor!"
"Your Future Starts Here!"
He looked at it every day.
Not with hope.
But with distance.
As if that world belonged to someone else.
In school, teachers spoke about ambition.
"Think big!" they said.
Aman always wondered — How big can a person think when his house roof leaks during rain?
During lunch break, his friends discussed which coaching they would join.
"Which stream will you choose?" one of them asked Aman.
He smiled.
"I haven't decided yet."
But the truth was — he had no choice to decide anything.
His life was already decided by circumstances.
That evening, when he returned home, he saw his father sitting outside, staring at the road.
He looked tired. More tired than usual.
"Papa, aap theek ho?" Aman asked.
His father forced a smile.
"Haan beta, bas thoda sa thak gaya hoon."
But Aman could see something was wrong.
That night, while eating dinner, his parents spoke in whispers, thinking the children were not listening.
"The factory may shut down next month," his father said quietly.
His mother stopped eating.
"Kya?"
"Owner ne bola hai losses ho rahe hain."
Aman's hand froze in the air.
Factory.
That one word was their entire life.
His father worked there for 22 years.
If the factory closed, their life would not just become difficult.
It would collapse.
Aman did not say anything.
He silently finished his food, went to his room, and lay down.
He stared at the ceiling fan rotating slowly.
For the first time in his life, he felt something heavy inside his chest.
Not fear.
Not sadness.
Responsibility.
At seventeen.
That night, Aman did not sleep.
He made a decision.
A decision that would quietly change his life forever.
He would start earning.
No matter what.
No matter how.
No matter at what cost.
Because sometimes, in ordinary houses with peeling walls, children do not get to be children.
They grow up in one night.
(To be continued in Chapter 2: "The First Lie")