Niharika Gupta
Chapter 1: Dreams Grounded
Rohan Mehra sat cross-legged on the floor of his small Bangalore bedroom, his sketchbook balanced carefully on his knees. The hum of the ceiling fan above mingled with the faint noise of traffic from the streets outside, but he barely noticed; his world existed inside the fine pencil lines and rough outlines of wings and engines. Each page of his notebook bore traces of his obsession—wing spans carefully measured, landing gears penciled in with painstaking detail, and the occasional coffee stain from late-night work when he had refused to let sleep interrupt his imagination. Next to him, on a low wooden desk, his computer glowed faintly, a flight simulator paused mid-air, a plane frozen above a virtual skyline. It was in these quiet hours, away from the noise of the world, that Rohan let his dreams take flight. He imagined himself in a cockpit, clouds parting before him, the city a tiny sprawl beneath his feet. At sixteen, he carried within him a fire that refused to die down—a dream of becoming a pilot, a dream so vivid it sometimes felt more real than the life he lived.
But life had its own turbulence. His father, once steady in his job at a private firm, returned home one evening with a heaviness in his steps that even Rohan, immersed in his own blueprints, could not ignore. The silence at dinner was thick, broken only when Mr. Mehra finally spoke, his voice low, admitting that he had been laid off. The news landed in the room like an unspoken storm—his mother’s forced smile, the way she shifted quickly to reassure him, and his father’s hollow laugh, all betraying the fragility beneath. Rohan stared at his plate, his appetite gone, the weight of adulthood suddenly pressing at his shoulders. The house felt smaller that night, and when he retreated to his room, his sketchbook lay open but untouched, his mind clouded with thoughts of bills, of groceries, of what this meant for his family. In that moment, his dreams of soaring skies seemed impossibly distant, as though he had been yanked back to the ground before takeoff.
Still, in the quiet that followed, Rohan discovered resilience of his own. He rose earlier in the mornings to help his mother with chores, ran errands after school, and kept his sketches tucked safely beneath his textbooks, hidden like secrets too delicate to be exposed. In the evenings, when the household settled into uneasy silence, he returned to his flight simulator, headphones snug over his ears, his fingers steady on the controls. The glow of the screen painted his face as he practiced landings, simulated turbulence, and rehearsed every maneuver with a seriousness that belied his age. These stolen hours became his sanctuary, proof that while reality demanded responsibility, his dreams still lived within him, waiting for the right runway to lift off. Somewhere between the duties of a dutiful son and the ambitions of a boy who wanted to touch the clouds, Rohan carried a fragile but unshakable hope. For even grounded wings, he told himself, could learn to fly again.
Chapter 2: Hidden Wings
Late at night, when the rest of the household surrendered to sleep, Rohan’s world would come alive in secret. He would quietly pull out his small toolkit, spreading wooden pieces, wires, and sheets of lightweight cardboard across his desk, the dim desk lamp throwing golden shadows on his restless hands. His creations were never perfect—some planes crashed after a few seconds of flight, others broke before they ever took off—but each failure taught him something new. He began to read about aerodynamics on old websites, pausing videos frame by frame to understand how wings cut through the air, how balance and lift worked in tandem. On the flight simulator, he experimented with stormy weather settings, practiced emergency landings, and replayed the same sequence until his movements were instinctive. For Rohan, these hours were not just a hobby; they were a quiet rebellion against the limitations of his world, an affirmation that his dreams, however far away, still breathed with him in the darkness.
But the secrecy weighed on him. During the day, he was the dutiful son, helping his mother with grocery shopping, carrying bags heavier than his thin arms should bear, and watching his father search endlessly for new jobs online. Sometimes, he would catch sight of his father’s tired eyes, the frustration masked by forced cheer, and guilt would twist inside him. How could he sit sketching planes when his family needed him? Yet, the moment he tried to bury his sketches and tools away, a part of him felt suffocated, as though he were denying the very essence of who he was. The conflict brewed inside him silently—his ambition tugged at his imagination like an insistent wind, but responsibility chained him to the ground. There were moments when he wished he could confess it all, share the fire of his dream openly, but fear of seeming selfish kept him silent. Rohan was learning that chasing the sky often meant carrying the weight of the earth too.
It was his mother who noticed first, not through grand discoveries but through small, careful observations. She would find scraps of balsa wood in the wastebasket, hear the faint hum of his simulator when she passed his door, and catch the light in his eyes whenever an airplane flew low over their neighborhood. One evening, while folding clothes in his room, she gently touched the unfinished model resting on his desk. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her smile soft but knowing. Rohan froze, waiting for the scolding he feared, but instead she placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t stop, beta. Sometimes holding onto dreams is what gives us strength to face hard times.” Her words were simple, yet they cut through his doubt like sunlight breaking through cloud. Though his father remained unaware, Rohan realized he had an ally in his mother, someone who quietly nurtured his hidden wings. That night, when he returned to his simulator, his hands steadier than before, he felt lighter—not because his responsibilities had vanished, but because he knew he was not entirely alone in carrying them alongside his sky-bound ambitions.
Chapter 3: The Spark
It was on an unusually warm afternoon when Rohan first heard the announcement that would change everything. A poster fluttered against the wall of his school notice board, its bold letters declaring: City-Wide Youth Aviation Competition – Innovate, Build, Fly! His eyes lingered on the words, the image of a sleek model plane etched above them, and for a fleeting moment, his heart leapt. This was exactly the kind of challenge he had been waiting for—a chance to put his hours of secret labor into something real, something that could take him closer to the dream he nursed in silence. Yet, almost immediately, the joy was shadowed by doubt. He thought of his father, still wrestling with rejection letters and interviews, and of the extra chores that fell to him at home. Entering such a competition would mean dedicating long hours that his family could not afford to spare. By the time the bell rang and his classmates crowded around the poster with excitement, Rohan had already decided he would let the opportunity pass, even as something in his chest ached with the refusal.
That night, the silence at the dinner table felt heavier than usual. His father picked at his food absently, while his mother tried to mask her worry with casual conversation. Rohan wanted to speak, to share the news, but the words stuck like pebbles in his throat. Later, when his father had retired to bed, he found himself lingering in the kitchen where his mother folded away the last of the dishes. She noticed the faraway look on his face and coaxed the truth from him with her gentle persistence. He told her about the competition, his voice low, almost apologetic, as if dreaming were a crime in a household weighed by survival. To his surprise, his mother did not scold or frown. Instead, she listened patiently, her hands resting lightly on his. “Rohan,” she said softly, “responsibility doesn’t mean abandoning who you are. Sometimes, the best way to help a family is to believe in yourself. If you get this chance, you should take it. Don’t be afraid of dreaming, beta. Dreams are what lift us above our troubles.” Her words lit something within him, a quiet but steady flame. That night, lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling with renewed determination. He would enter. Not just for himself, but to prove that even in hardship, hope could still take flight.
The following week, Rohan walked into the competition’s orientation session, a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing in his veins. The room was filled with boys and girls his age, some already discussing flight mechanics with practiced ease. He kept to himself until his eyes met a girl across the hall—Aisha Kapoor. She carried herself with an ease he envied, her ponytail swinging as she laughed with another participant, her tone sharp and confident when she spoke about her simulator hours. Rohan felt a jolt of intimidation, realizing there were competitors far more experienced and self-assured than him. Still, he reminded himself of his mother’s words and drew a quiet breath. As he registered his name and received the competition booklet, the spark that had ignited days ago now glowed brighter, tinged with both fear and anticipation. For the first time, his hidden passion was stepping into the light, and though the path ahead was uncertain, he knew there was no turning back.
Chapter 4: Rivalry Takes Flight
The first round of the aviation competition was held inside a sprawling convention hall, its high ceilings echoing with the whir of model plane propellers and the chatter of eager contestants. Tables lined the room, each piled with materials, tools, and carefully guarded prototypes. Rohan stood at his assigned spot, trying to calm the thrum in his chest as he unpacked his modest supplies—lightweight wood, glue, salvaged parts he had collected from hobby shops and local markets. Around him, many competitors displayed polished kits and sleek designs, their confidence as sharp as their machines. It was here that he first noticed Kabir Rao. Tall, with sharp features and an easy swagger, Kabir commanded attention as he unveiled a gleaming model plane that looked as though it had been assembled with professional precision. His laughter rang loud as he boasted about hours spent in elite workshops, his eyes sweeping the room with the assuredness of someone who expected to win. When his gaze landed on Rohan’s simpler setup, he smirked knowingly, a silent message that underdogs had no place here.
The challenge began with a timed task: assemble a functioning glider from given materials and test its flight distance. Rohan’s hands trembled at first, the murmurs of other contestants and Kabir’s overbearing presence pressing on his focus. Kabir worked quickly, his movements swift and confident, attracting a small crowd of onlookers impressed by his bravado. Rohan, by contrast, tuned into the quiet rhythm of his process, sketching a quick outline before cutting, shaping, and fitting each piece with care. When the testing began, Kabir’s glider soared across the hall effortlessly, drawing applause. Rohan’s, though steady, fell short in distance, landing awkwardly near the middle markers. A pang of disappointment clutched him, and Kabir’s mocking chuckle stung sharper than the result itself. Yet, hidden within his attempt was something unusual—his design showed an innovative wing curve, a detail overlooked by others, though it had yet to bear fruit. Just as he began to pack up, convinced he had failed, a voice from the judges’ table interrupted.
Mr. Deshpande, a retired pilot with silver hair and the quiet dignity of someone who had lived the skies, approached Rohan with an intrigued expression. “You thought differently,” he said, pointing to the wing design. “It didn’t fly far, but it showed potential.” His words were measured, his gaze steady, as if he could see beyond the surface of Rohan’s failure to the persistence beneath. He offered a few gentle suggestions, encouraging Rohan to refine rather than abandon his ideas. The recognition, however small, lit a spark of confidence within Rohan that no applause could match. Kabir, watching from a distance, dismissed the exchange with a roll of his eyes, but Rohan felt something shift. For the first time, he realized that victory wasn’t always about immediate success—it was about growth, resilience, and being noticed for effort that others overlooked. As he left the hall that evening, his disappointment mingled with renewed determination, and though Kabir loomed large as his rival, Rohan carried with him the steady encouragement of a mentor who believed in the wings he was only just beginning to spread.
Chapter 5: Turbulence at Home
The weeks following the first round of the competition brought a heaviness into the Mehra household, one that seemed to seep into every corner of their small apartment. Bills arrived in a steady stream, each envelope another reminder of how precarious their situation had become. His father’s job search yielded little more than rejection letters, and the quiet disappointment in his eyes grew sharper with each passing day. Rohan, though only sixteen, felt the weight of those envelopes as much as his parents did. He began rising early to help his mother with chores—sweeping floors, washing dishes, and accompanying her to the market where every rupee had to be stretched. Evenings were no easier. His father often sat silently at the dining table, staring at job portals on his aging laptop, the man’s once-energetic posture now bent with quiet defeat. Rohan would sit across from him, offering words of encouragement that felt small against such burdens, but he gave them anyway, sensing that his father needed more than just money—he needed dignity restored, hope kept alive.
Balancing these responsibilities with his passion became an exhausting routine. Rohan attended school, helped with household work, and yet, when the rest of the world slept, he returned to his secret world of wings and skies. His room, cluttered with scraps of balsa wood and wires, became both a workshop and an escape. He poured over diagrams of wing structures, tweaking the curves to reduce drag, experimenting with different materials to improve lift. On the simulator, he pushed himself into advanced modules, practicing takeoffs in heavy rain, learning to steady his hands during turbulence, and repeating emergency landing drills until his fingers moved with instinct. Fatigue often pressed on his eyelids, but the thought of letting his dream slip away was a force stronger than sleep. Some nights, the voices of doubt crept in—was he being selfish to chase the skies while his family struggled on the ground? Yet each time, the steady whir of a model propeller or the glow of the simulator reminded him that his passion was not a betrayal but a lifeline, keeping him from drowning in despair.
His mother noticed the toll it was taking on him—the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped with quiet exhaustion. One evening, while folding laundry together, she said gently, “You’re carrying too much, beta. But remember, even storms pass.” Her quiet reassurance gave him strength, though he never confessed just how much he still carried in secret. His father, too, began to lean subtly on him, seeking his presence in small conversations about life, about disappointments, even about cricket scores, as though Rohan’s youthful steadiness could hold the family together. In those moments, Rohan realized he was no longer just a boy dreaming of the sky; he was becoming a son who carried his family’s turbulence on his shoulders. And yet, beneath the strain, his passion endured, a flame burning steady against the winds. With every model he refined and every simulation he conquered, he reminded himself that perseverance was not just about chasing dreams—it was about surviving storms with the quiet strength to fly again once the skies cleared.
Chapter 6: Lift-Off
Under the steady mentorship of Mr. Deshpande, Rohan’s journey began to take on a new rhythm, one that balanced discipline with imagination. Every weekend, he cycled across the city to the retired pilot’s modest home, where the walls were lined with photographs of aircrafts and medals that spoke of skies once conquered. Mr. Deshpande treated him not as a boy but as a budding aviator, teaching him the fundamentals of flight mechanics, aerodynamics, and the subtler art of precision. “Flying is as much about patience as it is about speed,” he would remind Rohan, watching closely as the boy tested new glider shapes in the open field nearby. Under his guidance, Rohan learned to refine his wing curves, strengthen fuselages, and even explore unconventional materials for better balance and thrust. What had once been late-night trial and error slowly transformed into structured experimentation, and with each passing week, Rohan felt his skills sharpen, his models becoming less fragile dreams and more credible contenders. For the first time, he sensed not just the possibility of competing but of truly belonging in the world of aviation.
In the midst of this growth, Aisha’s presence became an unexpected but vital force. Initially intimidating with her confidence and sharp wit, she surprised Rohan by offering to share techniques she had mastered on simulators—shortcuts for quick decision-making, methods to stabilize a plane in unexpected turbulence, and the importance of reading data swiftly under pressure. Their practice sessions often spilled into laughter, her teasing balanced by his quiet determination, forming a friendship that thrived on mutual respect. Though they were still competitors, there was an unspoken understanding that learning together made them both stronger. Aisha admired Rohan’s creativity in design, often saying, “You see the sky differently. I just fly it; you’re trying to reshape it.” For Rohan, her words were affirmations he hadn’t realized he needed. Together, they became a pair that others began to notice—two individuals who, despite rivalry, pushed one another to reach higher. Yet, in the background, Kabir’s sharp eyes never strayed far. He watched their growing camaraderie with disdain, interpreting it as weakness rather than strength, and quietly plotted ways to exploit their bond.
Kabir’s attempts at undermining began subtly, with cutting remarks during group discussions or dismissive laughs when Rohan shared his ideas. “Nice toy planes,” he would say with a smirk, loud enough for others to hear. At first, Rohan bit back his irritation, focusing on his work, but it was Aisha who often stood up for him, her sharp tongue matching Kabir’s arrogance blow for blow. Still, the rivalry wasn’t only verbal. During one trial run, Rohan discovered his tools had been misplaced, a delay that nearly cost him his practice session. Though he had no proof, Kabir’s smug expression lingered like a shadow of guilt. Instead of breaking him, these challenges deepened Rohan’s resolve. With Aisha’s friendship and Mr. Deshpande’s mentorship, he found strength not in aggression but in quiet resilience. He realized that trust and collaboration, even among rivals, were as important as skill and innovation. As the second phase of the competition loomed, Rohan felt something shift inside him: his dream was no longer solitary. He was no longer the boy secretly sketching wings in the dark; he was part of a team of mentors and friends who believed in his flight, and together they were preparing him to lift off toward skies he had only dared to imagine.
Chapter 7: Stormy Skies
The practice round was supposed to be routine, another step forward in Rohan’s preparation for the next stage of the competition. The hall buzzed with the sound of propellers as contestants tested their models under the watchful eyes of mentors and peers. Rohan’s design, refined through long hours with Mr. Deshpande and quiet encouragement from Aisha, gleamed with promise. He adjusted the wings carefully, checked the alignment twice, and whispered a small prayer before letting it soar. For a brief, breathtaking moment, the model cut through the air with precision, climbing higher than any of his earlier attempts. Then, without warning, it wobbled, faltered, and nosedived into the ground with a sharp crack. The sound echoed like a verdict, and gasps filled the room. Rohan froze, his heart plummeting alongside the shattered remains of his creation. Kabir’s chuckle rang out from across the hall, cruel and mocking, while murmurs of pity circled him like an invisible crowd. Rohan gathered the broken pieces in silence, his hands trembling, the sting of failure pressing down heavier than the weight of all his responsibilities at home.
That night, the crash replayed endlessly in his mind, each failure amplified by the exhaustion that had been building over weeks. He questioned himself bitterly: Was he chasing a dream that wasn’t meant for him? Could someone like him—burdened with household struggles, lacking resources, and juggling schoolwork—ever hope to compete with those who had every advantage? The doubt gnawed at him, and for the first time since the competition began, he considered walking away. His father found him sitting quietly by the window, pieces of the broken model scattered on the table beside him. At first, the older man said nothing, just sat beside his son, his presence a silent comfort. Then, in a voice low but steady, he confessed his own fears—the shame of unemployment, the helplessness of watching his family struggle, the weight of feeling like he had failed them all. “But you know,” his father added, placing a firm hand on Rohan’s shoulder, “failure doesn’t mean you stop trying. It means you learn. Dreams don’t have to be perfect to matter. They just have to keep you moving forward. And family… family gives you the strength to try again.” The words struck Rohan deeply, not just because of their truth, but because they revealed the man behind the silence—vulnerable, flawed, yet still holding on to hope.
In that moment, Rohan felt the storm inside him begin to settle. His father’s honesty reminded him that he wasn’t alone in carrying burdens, and that chasing his dream was not a selfish act but part of the resilience his family needed to survive their own trials. Picking up the broken wing of his model, he studied it with new eyes, no longer seeing defeat but the possibility of improvement. The crash was not the end; it was a lesson waiting to be understood. Renewed by his father’s support, he resolved to rebuild—not just the plane, but his confidence. He would rise again, stronger, steadier, and more determined. For the first time, he realized that setbacks were not storms meant to destroy him but winds that could teach him how to navigate. And with that realization, Rohan prepared to face the skies again, not with fear of falling, but with the courage to fly despite it.
Chapter 8: The Competition Begins
The city-wide aviation contest arrived with a sense of spectacle, transforming the convention center into a buzzing arena of innovation and ambition. Rows of tables were lined with gleaming prototypes, flight simulators glowed under bright lights, and judges—engineers, pilots, and educators—stood ready with sharp eyes and clipboards. The finalists, each with months of preparation behind them, filled the room with an electric mix of confidence and nerves. Among them were Rohan, steady but anxious, Aisha, poised with quiet focus, and Kabir, striding about like a king surveying his court. The first challenge tested precision flying: participants had to maneuver their model planes through a series of narrow hoops suspended at varying heights. When Rohan’s turn arrived, his palms slicked with sweat, he took a deep breath and remembered Mr. Deshpande’s advice about patience. His plane wobbled slightly at the start but soon steadied, threading its way carefully through the obstacles. Though not the fastest, his control impressed the judges, while Aisha breezed through with grace and Kabir powered ahead aggressively, clipping a hoop but recovering with showmanship that drew applause. Already, the rivalries were visible, and the contest promised more storms ahead.
The next trial was endurance—how long each model could remain airborne under changing conditions. Small fans were placed around the hall to simulate gusts of wind, turning the test into a battle of engineering and resilience. Rohan’s design, refined after countless late-night experiments, relied on lightweight balance rather than brute power. He launched his model with steady hands, watching it glide smoothly, adapting to the gusts with a surprising stability. Aisha’s plane held strong as well, her meticulous planning evident in its unwavering path. Kabir, ever eager to outshine, had built a powerful design that soared high and fast but struggled under the artificial turbulence, forcing him to make rapid adjustments. The judges exchanged notes, spectators leaned forward, and Rohan felt his confidence inch upward with every second his creation stayed aloft. Yet, the intensity of the competition pressed on him—every glance at Kabir’s smirk reminded him that one mistake could turn admiration into mockery. When his plane finally descended after a long, graceful arc, Rohan allowed himself a small smile; he had held his ground.
The final test of the day was creative design, a challenge meant to separate innovation from imitation. Contestants were asked to present a unique model, explain its mechanics, and demonstrate its effectiveness in a short trial. Here, Rohan knew he could shine. Drawing from late-night experiments and Mr. Deshpande’s guidance, he presented a design with curved wings that reduced drag and improved stability, inspired by the flight patterns of birds he had observed. His voice trembled at first as he explained his ideas, but as he spoke of his love for the skies, his words steadied, carrying the conviction of someone who truly believed in his craft. Aisha impressed the judges with a sleek, efficient model that combined elegance with function, while Kabir dazzled with a polished, almost professional prototype—but his arrogance in dismissing others’ work drew frowns from the panel. As the day closed, the scores remained close, tensions high, and the air thick with rivalry. Rohan, exhausted yet exhilarated, realized that the competition was no longer just about proving himself—it was about resilience, courage, and the ability to think clearly when every second counted. He had faced his nerves, solved problems under pressure, and walked away still in the race. The storm of challenges had only begun, but for the first time, he felt ready to embrace it.
Chapter 9: Wings of Friendship
The second day of the contest dawned with heightened anticipation, the challenges promised to be tougher and more complex. Contestants were grouped into pairs for a collaborative task—a twist designed to test not just individual skill but the ability to work as a team. Fate, or perhaps chance, placed Rohan and Aisha together. At first, he hesitated, knowing they were still competitors, but Aisha’s confident smile dissolved his doubts. “Let’s make this count,” she said, her tone carrying both determination and camaraderie. Their task was daunting: design and fly a dual-wing glider capable of carrying a small payload across the hall. Many contestants groaned at the difficulty, but Rohan felt a flicker of excitement. Collaboration had never been his strong suit—his models were usually crafted in solitude—but standing beside Aisha, he sensed the potential of shared ideas. While others argued or divided tasks hastily, the two of them bent over sketches together, trading thoughts, refining angles, and debating designs. What could have been a clash of egos instead turned into a rhythm of cooperation, each learning from the other, their minds soaring higher than any model they had yet built.
The building process tested their patience and ingenuity. Aisha, skilled with precision, focused on balancing weight and stability, while Rohan, guided by his inventive streak, proposed a curved wing shape that could provide greater lift. At first, Aisha raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but when he explained how bird wings inspired the design, she nodded thoughtfully. They worked late into the session, adjusting and re-adjusting, until the glider began to take form—a blend of her discipline and his creativity. When it was time to test, they watched anxiously as their creation lifted off. The first attempt ended in a short glide, dipping too soon, but instead of frustration, they exchanged a quick laugh. “Back to the drawing board,” Aisha said, rolling up her sleeves. With tweaks to wing curvature and reinforcement of the fuselage, they tried again. This time, the glider soared farther, steady and graceful, carrying the small payload across the designated line. Cheers erupted from a few spectators, and even some judges leaned forward, impressed by the design’s originality. For Rohan, the moment felt surreal—not just because the plane had flown, but because it had been built on trust, collaboration, and shared perseverance.
Meanwhile, Kabir, paired with another contestant, had produced a sleek but conventional design, one that worked efficiently but lacked surprise. Though he sneered when Rohan and Aisha’s glider received praise, the flicker of irritation in his eyes was unmistakable. The judges took notes, murmuring about the innovation behind the dual-wing approach, and Rohan felt a quiet pride bloom within him. Yet, more important than the recognition was the bond that had formed between him and Aisha. For the first time, Rohan realized that chasing the skies didn’t mean flying alone. Friendship, he discovered, was another kind of wing—one that lifted him when doubt or exhaustion threatened to drag him down. As the day ended, Rohan and Aisha exchanged a smile of mutual respect, no longer just rivals but allies who had proven the power of collaboration. The competition was far from over, and Kabir remained as dangerous as ever, but Rohan knew he was no longer facing the storm alone. He had found strength not just in his own resilience, but in the wings of friendship that carried him forward.
Chapter 10: Skyline Dreams
The final day of the competition arrived with the weight of expectation pressing on every contestant’s shoulders. The hall was packed—judges seated at the front, families scattered among the crowd, and rows of competitors anxiously clutching their last and most ambitious creations. The final challenge was the ultimate test: design and fly a model capable of completing a complex flight pattern, including altitude changes, sharp turns, and a precision landing on a marked strip. For Rohan, the moment felt surreal. Every late-night simulation, every broken model, every sacrifice his family had endured—it had all led here. His nerves trembled at the edges, but his resolve held firm. As he prepared his plane, Aisha caught his eye and offered a nod of encouragement, while Kabir, ever arrogant, smirked as though victory were already his. The atmosphere was charged, each second stretching with possibility and tension. When Rohan’s turn came, he released his model with steady hands, his heart racing in rhythm with its wings. The plane dipped once, then steadied, soaring higher, navigating the turns with grace that reflected not just technical skill but months of quiet perseverance.
Midway through the flight, a sudden gust from the hall’s air circulation unit threatened to throw his model off course. Gasps echoed as it wobbled, and for a heartbeat, Rohan feared disaster. But drawing on every lesson from Mr. Deshpande, every instinct honed on the simulator, and every late-night experiment, he adjusted swiftly, regaining control. The plane dipped, recovered, and pressed on, tracing the pattern with determination. By the time it approached the landing strip, the audience was silent, holding its breath. The model touched down a few centimeters short of the mark, not perfect, but steady and safe. A wave of relief washed over him, followed by applause that filled the hall. Kabir’s model, sleek and powerful, soared higher but faltered during its landing, skidding far off the target. Aisha’s design performed beautifully, earning her admiration from the judges. In the final tally, Rohan did not claim first place, but he secured a strong second, his innovation and resilience drawing praise from the panel. More importantly, Mr. Deshpande and one of the chief judges—a retired airline captain—approached him afterward, offering mentorship and pathways to pursue aviation seriously. For Rohan, it wasn’t a trophy that mattered most; it was the opening of a door to the skies he had always dreamed of reaching.
Returning home that evening, Rohan carried no medal but a heart full of pride. His parents, waiting anxiously, embraced him tightly when he shared the news, their smiles brighter than any prize. The living room, once heavy with worry, now shimmered with hope. His father, after weeks of struggle, revealed that he had secured a new job, one that promised stability and a fresh start. For the first time in months, laughter filled their home, and the air felt lighter, freer. Standing by the window that night, Rohan looked out at the Bangalore skyline, the city lights flickering like distant stars. His dream of becoming a pilot was still far ahead, but no longer unreachable—it had shifted from fantasy to possibility. He understood now that flying wasn’t just about planes or competitions; it was about rising above storms, balancing ambition with responsibility, and carrying his family’s strength with him. The horizon stretched wide, and though the journey was only beginning, Rohan knew one thing with certainty: his skyline dreams were taking flight.
End
