Where it all began

As the train's rhythmic clatter faded into the background, my mind drifted back to where it all began—2005, when life felt simpler.

I was a twelve-year-old, standing backstage at St. Mary's High School, buzzing with nervous excitement. The air was thick with anticipation. The auditorium brimmed with parents and students, all there for the annual day. The spotlight hung poised, ready to illuminate both triumph and misstep on that polished stage—where stories would unfold, and memories would be etched into every heart present.

As I stepped off the stage, my heart pounded like a relentless drumbeat. It had been my debut performance. I was always scared of attention… and yet, I craved it. Somehow, I held myself together by locking my eyes on the far wall, avoiding the sea of faces watching me.

Backstage, my eyes darted frantically, searching for her. I saw her group, but not her.

Our teacher called out her name—Aadhya. Her performance was next. Panic surged through me. I dashed down the corridor and spotted her sprinting toward backstage in a flowing white dress. My heart, still racing from my own performance, now thudded louder.

I stopped her. Today, I had resolved, was the day I would finally confess my feelings.

"Your performance is up next; everyone's waiting. Where were you?" I asked, breathless.

She smiled, equally breathless. "I went to the front of the stage... I wanted a good view of your performance."

Her words struck me like lightning.

I was speechless. She was always so open with her emotions, while I kept mine locked away. But not today. I had finally gathered the courage.

"I want to tell you something—" I began, voice trembling.

But she interrupted, her eyes darting to the clock. "I'm late! We'll talk after, okay? Just watch me perform and tell me how I did. Don't go anywhere!"

And like that, she dashed away, leaving her promise hanging in the air.

As I made my way through the corridor toward the audience entrance to watch Aadhya's performance, someone stepped into my path.

Madhu—the daughter of the school headmaster.

Her expression was serious, almost shy. "I need to talk to you… It's important. "But I was in a hurry. I couldn't miss Aadhya's performance.

"Can we talk later?" I asked, already reaching for the door handle.

And then—softly, nervously—she said it:"I like you... and I want to be your girlfriend."

I froze. What?

Before I could react, the door opened. Adithya, my best friend—and Aadhya's twin—stood there.

"There you are!" he said. "Aadhya's about to perform!"

Before I could respond, Madhu repeated her confession, her voice carrying the same timid determination. My heart sank as I stood there, torn between surprise and dread, not wanting to deal with this revelation in front of Adithya, second only to Aadhya in the class's social hierarchy.

Panic took over. I blurted, "No. I can't. Don't talk to me!" The words came out harsher than I meant.

Grabbing Adithya's arm, I pulled him inside, desperate to escape the embarrassment.

Inside, Adithya couldn't stop laughing as he shared what had just happened. The other students joined in, their laughter echoing around the room.

Then suddenly—Madhu burst in, crying. Tears streamed down her face as she ran off. The room fell silent.

Whispers followed. "She's going to tell her father." "You'll be expelled."

Fear gripped me. My heart pounded harder than before.

Aadhya's performance started—but I couldn't focus. Girls were staring at me, whispering, judging. I couldn't take it anymore.

I decided: I had to leave. With summer break starting the next day, I thought maybe I could ask Dad to transfer me to another school. Escape before anything happened.

Adithya stopped me at the exit. "Nothing will happen, trust me. Just wait till Aadhya finishes. I'll walk home with you."

Reluctantly, I stayed. I wasn't ready to face Aadhya yet. And with Adithya glued to my side, I couldn't speak to her even if I wanted to.

So, after the event, we walked home together. My mind raced with thoughts of how to solve this dilemma.

If I switched schools, I wouldn't be able to see Aadhya every day.

Could there be a way? Perhaps I could persuade Adithya to transfer schools with me, and then Aadhya might also decide to switch. 

But as we neared my house, everything came crashing down.

A crowd had gathered.

An ambulance was parked outside.

My grandfather ran toward me, eyes wet with tears. He pulled me into a tight hug and whispered the words that shattered my world.

There had been an accident.

I pushed past him and ran inside.

There, I saw them—my mom and dad—lying still.

The whispers of the crowd became clearer:

"What will happen to him now?"

"Who will take care of the boy?"

In a single moment, everything else—Madhu, the confession, Aadhya, school—faded into insignificance.

Suddenly, I was snapped back to the present. The metro train hummed beneath me.

A father nearby was quizzing his son:

"Who is the Missile Man of India?"

Passengers around us were lost in their phones and earphones. The father looked at me and smiled. He recognized me—the CEO and founder of Adithya Tech, a name known across the city.

He gestured to his son.

"Look at him. One day, you could be like him. Do you have any advice for my boy?"

I leaned forward and smiled gently.

"What we become isn't as important as how we got there. Don't follow my exact path—some journeys are too painful to repeat."

Then, turning to the father, I added:

"If your son knows Abdul Kalam is the Missile Man of India, he'll get a mark in the exam. But if you teach him how Abdul Kalam became that man—what he went through—it'll inspire him for life. The journey is always more valuable than the destination."

As the station loomed closer, the father and son disembarked, their departure a blur of motion and voices fading into the noise. I yanked my cap lower over my eyes, desperate to disappear into anonymity, my heart pounding with the urgency of escape. My thoughts spiraled into a storm, louder than the train itself—memories, regrets, and a question I still hadn't answered:

What did it really cost to become who I am today?