The corridor smelled of damp uniforms and chalk. Students rushed past in noisy groups, comparing timetables, arguing about domains, bragging about marks.
Amid all that noise, Aryan and Sagar walked side by side — slow, unhurried — like the chaos around them didn't belong to them at all.
Sagar was talking, as usual.
"Orientation for Business & Management… they said it'll be in the assembly hall. Big people may come, da. Last time seniors said one guest from DHARA HQ came."
He spoke with a mix of excitement and nerves, hands moving as if he had to guide the words out.
Aryan hummed lightly, not committing to anything.
"But I still don't get it," Sagar continued.
"Everyone says management is tough… like real corporate stuff. If they say 'present,' you have to present. If they say 'plan,' you have to plan. It's too much, no?"
Aryan watched the floor tiles as they walked. His head throbbed again — a sharp sting behind his eye, like someone twisting something inside. He pressed his fingers lightly to his temple.
Sagar noticed immediately.
"You're getting it again?" he asked softly.
Aryan didn't look up. "Hmm."
"You should really check with the doctor again," Sagar said, voice dropping. "This is happening too often."
"I already went," Aryan muttered. "He said I'm perfectly normal."
The way he said normal — flat, irritated — made his frustration clear.
A child's anger, quiet but real.
Sagar slowed down, concern pulling at his eyebrows.
"But… it's not normal, da. It's hurting you every day."
Aryan didn't answer.
He wasn't ignoring — he simply didn't have words for pain he couldn't explain.
They reached the end of the corridor. Two boys ran past them yelling something about football; someone dropped a bottle; a senior shouted from the stairs; everything moved too fast around them.
But Aryan remained still inside.
After a long moment, Sagar exhaled and asked the question he'd been holding.
"Da… are you sure you want Business & Management? You can still change today. Science suits you more, no?"
Aryan brushed his hair away from his forehead, eyes still distant.
"I still owe a battle to her, right?"
The sentence dropped between them like a stone into a quiet pond.
Sagar stopped walking.
For a full second, he just… froze — blank expression, unmoving — but his eyes told everything.
A memory.
A silence.
A question he didn't want to reopen.
Because "her" only meant one person to him.
A girl who used to walk beside him without talking much.
A girl he understood without trying.
A girl who left at the end of Class 3, leaving both of them standing in a quiet place inside themselves they never spoke about.
He swallowed once.
"I… I didn't expect you to say that," he admitted.
Aryan didn't reply.
Some feelings don't need explanation.
They walked again.
Sagar tried to smile it off, tapping Aryan's shoulder.
"You and your battles, da… you're always like this."
Aryan didn't deny it.
A group of boys from their class passed them, arguing about Pokémon.
"Ash lost again, macha!"
"No, bro, he almost won!"
Sagar softened.
His voice regained its warmth.
"Speaking of that…" he said, nudging Aryan lightly. "Did you watch yesterday's battle?"
Aryan finally looked up — the headache still there, but his eyes clearer.
"Hmm," he said. "Pikachu tried. Shouldn't have used Iron Tail first."
Sagar grinned.
"Exactly what I thought!"
For a moment, they were just two boys again — walking, talking, existing in their small world.
But behind Aryan's stillness, one truth pulsed quietly:
He wasn't choosing Business & Management for ambition.
Not for competition.
Not for glory.
He was choosing it because somewhere in his heart…
he still lived in a moment that refused to fade —