Here's *Part 1* of your novel — raw, emotional, and in a style that pulls the reader into Ayan's world. Let me know if you want it in *Bengali*, *English*, or a mix. For now, I'm writing it in *English with a touch of desi flavor*, so you can easily adapt it later.
📘 The Quiet Topper — Part 1: "Average"
Ayan never liked being called "average."
It wasn't an insult — it was a _label_.
Printed in red ink on report cards, whispered in staff rooms, and echoing in his parents' sighs.
He sat in the last row of Class 9-B, not because he wanted to disappear, but because from there, he could see everything — and be seen by no one.
His notebook was full of half-solved math problems and full-page doodles of chessboards. He didn't raise his hand. He didn't need to. He already knew what the teacher would say.
At home, things were louder.
His father, a civil engineer with a stiff spine and a stiffer voice, would often say,
*"Ayan, you need to be sharper. Look at Rohit from next door — already building apps."*
His mother, a rising political figure with sharp eyes and sharper words, would add,
*"You have to learn how to lead, not just follow. This world doesn't wait for quiet boys."*
They weren't cruel. They were just... worried.
And Ayan could feel that worry seep into his skin, like cold water through cracks.
He didn't argue. He didn't rebel.
He just... _observed_.
He watched his father measure walls and beams, calculating stress points.
He watched his mother speak at podiums, measuring words like weapons.
And he wondered — _what's my measurement?_
One night, after a particularly average result in his unit test (56/100 in Math), his mother placed a chocolate on his table and said,
*"It's okay, beta. You'll do better next time."*
He stared at the chocolate. It wasn't sweet anymore. It was... _sympathy_.
That night, he opened his notebook and wrote one line:
> "I'm not average. I'm just not yet visible."
And for the first time, he didn't write to solve a problem.