Arin lived in a room so small that his dreams had to fold themselves to fit. The paint peeled from the walls like tired memories, and the ceiling fan spun with a stubborn hum, pushing warm air in lazy circles.
But Arin did not mind.
Because inside that small room, universes were being built.
Every night, while the city slept and stray dogs barked at invisible enemies, Arin stared at the glow of his old phone screen. Not scrolling. Not wasting time.
Learning.
Lines of code became his secret language. Errors became puzzles. Failure became routine.
Outside, people saw a boy with nothing.
Inside, Arin was already building tomorrow.