Chapter 6
The Beginning of Calisthenics
The night was suffocating.
Vaibhav lay wide awake on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling, listening to the dull, endless hum of the ceiling fan—the only sound in the house that never truly slept.
His father and brother had returned home late again. Tired. Irritated. Sharp words flying like arrows.
"Study, Vaibhav. Or end up like us," his father had muttered, pulling off his shoes and collapsing onto the cot.
Vivek's voice followed. Cold. Uncaring. "No one cares how many push-ups you do, idiot. Marks will save you. Strength won't."
Then silence.
Except for Vaibhav's breathing. Slow. Stuck in his throat like old nails.
But tonight… something was different.
A quiet rebellion burned behind his ribs. A spark that refused to die.
His wrist twitched.
His fingers curled.
His body begged to move.
"No gym? Fine."
"No equipment? Good."
"No one believes? Better."
His lips tightened in the dark.
"I'll make my own gym," he whispered.
Barefoot, silent as a shadow, he crept to the empty corner of the room. Palms on the cold floor.
Push-ups.
One… two… three.
The first few were shaky. Weak. His chest ached. His elbows wobbled. The dusty floor smelled of sweat and cracked tile.
Four... five... six.
His muscles trembled. But his eyes burned brighter.
"Again."
Ten… fifteen… twenty.
His body screamed.
His mind roared.
You're weak. You'll always be weak. Stop this madness...
He ignored it.
Then squats—deep, slow, silent. Knees cracking softly like old wood. Legs shaking like dry leaves. His breath hitched but he didn't stop.
Plank.
Until sweat dripped onto the floor.
Until his arms gave out.
Until his core burned fire.
And then—the door frame.
A pull-up bar disguised as an old wooden doorway.
He jumped, gripped the frame tight, fingers curling around rough splinters.
Pull.
One inch.
Then he fell.
Again.
A second time.
A third.
But every time, his arms lifted higher.
Bricks from the backyard became wrist weights. His schoolbag full of books became a shoulder load. Broken rubber bands became grip trainers.
His arms ached.
His shoulders stung.
His breath rasped.
But his soul... felt alive.
No father shouting.
No brother mocking.
No Lucky. No crowd.
Just Vaibhav.
And the darkness that watched him grow.
After what felt like hours, he collapsed onto the floor—breathless, drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling like a stormy sea.
A grin stretched across his tired face.
For the first time in weeks—maybe months—the fear inside him was gone.
He didn't need gym memberships.
Didn't need whey protein.
Didn't need anyone's permission.
His body was his gym.
His will was his fuel.
This… was freedom.
As he lay there, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, his hand touched something cold near his mattress.
His brother's old phone.
They had finally given it to him last week—strictly for "study only," to read PDF books, watch online classes, nothing else.
But they didn't watch him now.
He unlocked it, screen glowing weakly in the dark.
His thumb hesitated.
Then moved.
"Calisthenics workout for beginners."
"Home bodyweight training—no equipment."
"Forearm and grip strength."
"ADHD fitness focus hacks."
App after app filled the screen.
Workout logs. Fitness challenges. Calorie calculators. Motivational videos of nameless athletes doing push-ups on rooftops, pull-ups on trees, muscle-ups on street bars.
His eyes devoured every word. Every image.
A secret library.
His own.
His smile widened.
As the downloads finished, he stood—quiet, shaky—and moved to the cracked mirror near the bathroom.
He pulled off his worn t-shirt.
His thin chest reflected dimly.
Small shoulders.
Bony arms.
A soft stomach.
But behind those tired eyes—burned a spark.
He flexed. Just once.
His biceps barely twitched. But they twitched.
A grin touched his lips.
"I look weak now… but I won't always be."
The mirror didn't laugh.
It watched. Like the future itself.
A quiet promise whispered in the dark:
"The world has no idea what's coming."
And neither did he.
This… was only the beginning.
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