Flashback:
The fascination began when he was just 6 years old, holding his father's hand at the airport, wide-eyed as he saw a massive aircraft take off.
"Itni badi chidiya kaise uddti hai, papa?"
(How does such a big bird fly, papa?)
Since that day, planes were not just machines to him they were freedom, purpose, and dreams stitched into metal.
His room had paper planes, aircraft models, and aeronautics posters. While other kids played cricket, Ritvik watched Air Crash Investigation on TV, read books on cockpit protocol, and browsed YouTube for tutorials on how flaps worked.
In school, Ritvik wasn't the loudest or the most popular, but he was deeply focused.
By the time he reached class 10, he had already set his eyes on becoming a commercial pilot. He began preparing for it.
He gave multiple tests:
DGCA Class 1 Medical
Class 2 Medical
Aptitude & Psychometric Assessments
Cleared his Physics, Maths, and English validations under DGCA
It wasn't easy. The competition was brutal, the selection process intense. He had to first clear the academic screening, then the rigorous Pilot Aptitude Battery Test (PABT), and after that, face the final interview round. His preparation was relentless early mornings spent solving aeronautical physics problems, late nights revising formulas and brushing up on general knowledge and aviation regulations. Alongside this, he also had to ensure he passed the DGCA Class 1 medical examination an equally critical requirement that tested everything from vision to mental health.
But he didn't stop there. His dream college?his goal was clear: to crack the entrance into Indira Gandhi Rashtriya Uran Akademi (IGRUA), Amethi, Uttar Pradesh one of the most prestigious and selective pilot training academies in India.
They had just 30 seats per batch.
And guess what?
Ritvik cleared the entrance test and interview in the top 5 ranks.
When the acceptance letter came two months ago, it was 3AM. Everyone was asleep. He stood alone on the balcony, tears rolling down.
He made it.
Now, as he stood at the edge of his departure, just hours away from flying to Uttar Pradesh to begin his residential training at IGRUA, the emotions were overwhelming. He wasn't just leaving home he was stepping into a new life. A life of discipline, skies, engines, and runways. The fear was there, of course. But so was the thrill. Because this wasn't a new beginning born out of luck it was earned, built brick by brick, sacrifice by sacrifice.
As he looked around his room now clean, almost empty his eyes stopped on a photograph:
Him at 10, holding a toy plane.
Vaani on his lap.
Tara in pig-tails, grinning in the background
He smiled to himself.
"It was my dream to become a pilot... but this whole house has flown with me."
•~•
Airport Departure
The terminal buzzed with soft announcements and the steady rhythm of trolley wheels on tile. Near Gate 3, Ritvik stood with his mom, Vaani, and Tara, his backpack slung over one shoulder and boarding pass in hand. He checked the time. 4:58 PM.
His mom straightened the collar of his jacket for the fifth time, wiping invisible dust.
"Tumne boarding pass sambhal ke rakha hai na? Aur wallet? Aur phone? Charger liya tha na?"
(You've kept your boarding pass safely, right? And your wallet? Your phone? Did you pack the charger?)
"Mummy..." Ritvik said with a soft chuckle, gently holding her hands to stop her.
"Main bacha nahi hoon. Sab kuch pack kiya hai. Aap bas tension mat lo."
(I'm not a kid anymore. I've packed everything. You don't worry.)
Just then, loud voices broke the emotional tension.
"Pilot sahab! Late ho gaya toh airport pe hi plane udana padega!"
(Pilot sir! If you're late, you'll have to fly the plane right from here!)
The gang had arrived Vihaan, Ekansh, Ayaan jogging toward him, their faces lit with mischief and affection.
They enveloped him in a tight, group hug.
They laughed, pushing and pulling each other like it was just another school break not the beginning of a farewell.
Then, from the side, Vaani stepped up with mock innocence and asked,
"Tussi jaa rahe ho?"
(You're really leaving?)
Ritvik blinked, smiling.
"Haan, kyun nahi jaaun?"
(Yes, why wouldn't I?)
She smirked and shrugged,
"Toh tussi jaldi jao na!"
(Then go quickly, no?)
Everyone burst out laughing even his mom cracked a smile.
"Bohot tez ho gayi hai yeh." Ritvik said, pulling her into a brief hug.
(She's become way too witty now.)
He turned toward Tara, a bit more serious this time.
"Take care of her, and yourself too okay? Aur agar kabhi kuch bhi chahiye ho anything at all just call me. I'll be there."
Tara nodded with a soft smile.
"Promise?"
"Always."
Then Ritvik turned to his mother.
For a second, neither of them said anything. Just stood there, looking at each other eyes full, words too heavy.
He took her hand and softly said:
"Papa se kehna main theek se pahunch gaya. Aur... main unhe letter likhunga jaake. Aap log bhi call karte rehna, please."
(Tell Papa I reached safely. And... I'll write him a letter when I get there. You both please keep calling too.)
His mother's lips trembled slightly, but she smiled through it.
"Main bata dungi. Aur tum letter likhna, unhe badi khushi hogi."
(I will tell him. And yes, write that letter. He'll be so happy.)
"Bas khush rehna. Khana time pe khana. Kisi cheez ki dikkat ho toh immediately phone karna." she added with a soft smile.
(Just stay happy. Eat on time. If there's any issue, call us immediately.)
"Theek hai mummy. Sab follow karunga." Ritvik whispered.
(Okay mom. I'll follow everything.)
He touched her feet, hugged her tightly once more, and then slung his bag over his shoulder.
They all walked him as far as they could before the final security gate.
And then he was gone, disappearing behind the glass doors.
Everyone stood silently for a moment.
Then Vihaan spoke, voice quiet,
"Pehle toh yeh chala gaya..."
("He has gone first")
Ekansh added,
"Lagta hai ab officially bade ho gaye hain."
(Feels like we're officially grown up now.)
No one said much after that.
They nodded to each other, shared tired smiles, and parted ways.
Back to homes filled with silence.
Back to routines without a key piece.
Back to a world that would keep moving forward just with one less person at the table.
As the plane touched down on the runway at Lucknow Airport, Ritvik's heart beat a little faster. It was real now the start of something he had dreamed about for years. The aircraft's wheels screeched against the tarmac, and a quiet thrill rose in his chest. He stared out the window, imagining the day he'd be the one in the cockpit, guiding a plane to land.
From the airport, a cab took him deeper into the heart of Uttar Pradesh past winding rural highways, emerald fields swaying in the breeze, narrow roads lined with banyan trees, and sleepy villages where life seemed untouched by time. It was a journey through stillness, the kind that gives thoughts room to breathe. Finally, after nearly four hours, the cab slowed in front of a modest but dignified gate.
"Indira Gandhi Institute of Aviation Sciences - IGRUA"
The name stretched across a cream-colored arch, guarded by stern-faced security officers in uniform. Beyond it, faint in the distance, a runway shimmered under the sunlight quiet, vast, and full of promise. Ritvik stepped out, bag slung over one shoulder, eyes wide with nerves and wonder, lungs full of dry air and dreams.
The first few days passed in a blur of orientation schedules. There were introductions, briefings, and a list of rules that stretched longer than any runway. No late nights. No mobile phones during training hours. Uniforms were to be pressed sharp, bedsheets tucked perfectly, attendance marked at a flawless 100%. And above all respect was non-negotiable.
Yet, it wasn't military aggression that enforced the order. The instructors didn't shout. They didn't need to. Their presence alone made cadets straighten up, walk with purpose, and speak with respect. Ritvik noticed the way everyone around him city kids, small-town aspirants, all in the same crisp white shirts and navy-blue trousers carried the same wide-eyed look: a mixture of awe and fear, of ambition held tightly inside their chests.
The campus wasn't luxurious. There were no sprawling cafés or air-conditioned movie halls. But it had everything that mattered. Long airstrips where Cessna and Diamond aircraft glinted under the midday sun. Simulator rooms that recreated the cockpit down to the smallest detail the click of every switch, the weight of every control. Classrooms filled with aerodynamics charts, radio telephony manuals, and navigation maps that smelled faintly of ink and sky. Most importantly, it had airspace wide, open, and full of silent whispers that only cadet pilots could hear.
The greenery of Amethi wrapped the campus in a quiet calm, a balance to the intense routine. The cool wind often carried the distant roar of an aircraft engine, a sound that made Ritvik pause, look up, and remind himself what he was here for.
From the very first day, Ritvik realized one thing that this journey was not going to be easy. But it was absolutely worth it.
His mornings began at 5 AM sharp. There was no snooze button, no second chances. Any delay meant grounding. No excuses. No shortcuts. It was tough, yes but Ritvik loved it. Every second of it. Every aching muscle, every stern correction, every rule etched deeper into his routine.
He wrote letters to his father regularly even though he wasn't sure if they were read. He kept a family photo inside his logbook, worn at the corners, and every night before sleep, he would take one quiet glance at it. A small reminder of why he was here.
Over time, Ritvik changed. Slowly, almost invisibly, he transformed. His body grew stronger. His back straightened. His words became more deliberate. His eyes once filled with questions now glinted with clarity and purpose.
Amidst the stress, there was a brotherhood forming. They laughed over watery dal and rubbery rotis in the mess. They stayed up late quizzing each other before instrument flying tests. They ironed uniforms in silence, whispering jokes and passing biscuits under the bunk. And when someone flew their first solo flight, it was celebrated like a birthday cheering, water thrown in the air, hugs exchanged like medals.
Classes were intense and unrelenting. Air Navigation taught them how to read maps and trace invisible roads in the sky. Meteorology drilled into them the moods of clouds and the power of unseen winds. Air Regulations and Radio Telephony turned them into coded communicators clear, clipped, no room for emotion. And Aerodynamics revealed the very breath of a flying machine how it soared, how it banked, and what happened when it failed.
Ritvik studied late into the night, scribbling notes, crafting flashcards, and sticking formulas onto the wall above his bed. His hostel room was basic: a single bed, a small desk, a steel cupboard, and a fan that coughed whenever the voltage dipped. But to him, it wasn't a room. It was a launchpad.
Some nights, Ritvik would stand at his window and gaze at the distant runway lights blinking steadily. They seemed to speak to him, quietly: Soon.
He knew the path wouldn't get easier. There would be more theory exams, more simulator checks, more sleepless nights. He would fail, stumble, be corrected, and rise again.
But he also knew this: someday soon, an instructor would nod. He would be handed the keys to a Cessna 172. He'd climb in. Strap himself in. Look out at the tarmac one last time. And then, with the whole world behind him, he'd take off.
And even on the hardest days, when everything felt overwhelming, he would look up at a passing plane and smile.
Because now...
He was one of them.
A week after Ritvik began his journey in Amethi, Vihaan stepped to leave too.
The train was scheduled for 4:45 PM.
The station was buzzing with the usual crowd chai vendors, luggage carts, honking announcements, and the occasional pigeon flapping too close. But among it all stood one little group quiet, emotional, and tightly knit.
Vihaan stood near the platform gate, dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans, his bag slung across one shoulder and a rucksack at his feet. Today, he was leaving.
Not just the city.
But school days. Family comfort. Familiar lanes. That comfort of knowing everything.
Today was the day he was stepping into something uncertain his first year in Jaipur, where he'd begin a Bachelor's degree in Political Science and prepare for UPSC alongside.
Ekansh had taken the day off from packing. Ayaan was there too. Kriti, Vaani, Nirma, Tara all of them were present.
The goodbye wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. Just a lot of,
"Tu sambhal ke rehna."
(Take care of yourself.)
"Call karte rehna."
(Keep calling us.)
"Hume bhul mat jana."
(Don't forgot us.)
They handed him a small bag of homemade snacks, a bottle of water.
Vihaan smiled but didn't say much. The kind of silence that held too much.
Then suddenly, he turned to the group, "Main bas 5 minute mein aata hoon, ek baar..."
(I'll be back in 5 minutes... just need a moment.)
He came after a few minutes and took his bag.
Then, the announcement came.
"Train number one-two-nine-eight-two, Chetak Express to Jaipur, arriving shortly on Platform Number Two..."
Everyone turned toward the sound, but Vihaan didn't move yet.
The train rolled in behind him with a low, growling roar.
The hugs were quick, tight, and full of things that didn't need to be said.
Then he climbed aboard.
He stood at the doorway as the train pulled out, his hand resting against the side of the compartment, wind rushing into his face. His friends waved till he became a dot.
Two days passed or maybe it was less. The travel blurred into a mix of waiting rooms, overheard conversations, chai cups balanced on windowsills, and unread pages of the book he carried.
Sleep came in patches. Food was shared with strangers.
But his thoughts were steady.
With every passing station, Vihaan felt himself shedding something childhood, safety, familiarity like layers he didn't need anymore.
By the time he stepped off at Jaipur Junction, early morning sun streaking across the platform tiles, he felt... ready.
Not fully.
But enough to begin.
His bag was heavy, the air dry, and his thoughts louder than ever.
He was finally here.
The college wasn't massive, but it had a reputation serious students, sharp professors, and a sense of quiet determination in the air. The hostel was modest: cream walls, a steel bed, one old ceiling fan that clicked on and off, and a roommate who talked mostly about cricket.
Orientation lasted three days.
He filled forms, got his ID card, and made two trips to the campus bookstore.
At night, he called home without fail.
"Haan mummy, khana kha liya." he'd say, even on the nights he skipped dinner because the dal smelled off.
(Yes mummy, i don't my dinner.)
Jaipur took a while to get used to.
Not just the city but the pace, the people, the hostel food that tried its best and failed most days.
Still, Vihaan adjusted fast. That was just who he was.
Within a week, he knew which canteen aunty gave extra curry when you smiled, which classroom had the working fan, and which seniors to avoid if you wanted to walk past in peace.
He shared his room with a cricket-obsessed first-year named Zaid, who never folded his bedsheet and had a talent for burning Maggi. Vihaan pretended to be annoyed, but secretly found him hilarious.
"Tu civil services ka toh chhod... fire safety ka exam de." Vihaan joked one night after Zaid nearly set the electric kettle on fire.
By the end of week one, he had set a routine sharper than most:
(You should give an exam for fire safety instead of civil services ")
Subjects like Polity and History fascinated him.
Ethics felt personal.
The more he studied, the more he understood the cracks in the system... and how people like his father tried to hold it together.
There were tough days too.
Days when the syllabus looked like a mountain.
When others went out for movies and he stayed in, his books open, mind tired but stubborn.
Soon, people started warming up to him partly because of his sincerity, mostly because of his dry one-liners and the way he could make even a lecture on 'Centre-State Relations' sound like a Netflix drama.
They'd ask him doubts after class.
Sometimes tag along to the library.
And more often than not, laugh too loudly at his jokes during chai breaks.
He didn't let himself get too distracted his schedule still ran like a tightrope but even he knew you needed people. Not too many. Just enough to make you feel less alone.
Back Home, But Not Too Far
Texts to Ayaan, Ritvik, and Ekansh weren't daily anymore.
But they happened.
A meme here.
A "Bro, guess what just happened" there.
A quick voice note sent half-asleep after a late-night study session.
Sometimes he'd call Ritvik just to ask about flying, pretending to be a passenger with silly flight queries.
"Hello sir, I want window seat but also emergency exit... and free coffee. Possible?"
Ritvik would groan. "I swear to God, Vihaan."
And laugh anyway.
He didn't say it much, but Vihaan missed them.
Especially during quiet nights. Especially when he walked back from the library and everything in Jaipur felt too big, too new.
But that's the thing about real friendships you don't need to talk every day. They stay with you, quietly.
Like echoes you can still hear when everything else goes quiet.
There were evenings when Vihaan ditched the UPSC books early, grabbed a samosa from the back gate stall, and sat under the neem tree with Zaid and two other classmates ,Aakriti and Rahul.
They talked about politics, professors, and sometimes... nothing at all.
He wasn't the loudest in the group, but somehow, they all looked at him when things needed clarity.
Or when someone needed to lighten the mood.
Vihaan had a way of doing that.
Even with all the weight on his shoulders his goals, his father's memory, his own expectations he never became bitter.
He could laugh.
Even at himself.
Especially at himself.
On some nights, when the air was cooler and the power cuts returned, Vihaan climbed the stairs to the hostel terrace.
The city stretched before him jaipur, golden and pink, alive in the dark.
He would sit with a book in his lap and look at the stars above.
Sometimes he said nothing.
Sometimes he whispered just one word:
"Someday."
Then he would get up, dust off his jeans, and return to his room.
Another page. Another chapter. Another step forward.
Because like Ritvik in Amethi, Vihaan too was changing slowly, quietly, and with purpose.
And though their paths were different, both had eyes fixed on the sky.
One to fly in it.
The other to protect what lay beneath it.
Two months ago...
The morning sun hadn't fully risen, but Ekansh was already at his desk, refreshing the NEET website every five seconds. The server crashed again.
Of course it had.
His palms were sweating, and his heartbeat was doing something weird fast, slow, fast again.
Ahaan was still asleep, hugging his old toy like nothing in the world was urgent. Their mom was in the kitchen, humming under her breath. His father had taken the day off from base for this exact moment.
And finally, just before 7:00 AM, the page loaded.
NEET 2025 Scorecard
Name: Ekansh Malhotra
AIR: 87
Marks: 705 / 720
He stared at the screen for a full minute.
No sound. No reaction. Just... silence.
Then he whispered, "Eighty-seven?"
Ahaan, now awake, peeked in, blinking sleepily. "What?"
Ekansh turned the laptop around.
"Bhai... AIR 87."
Within seconds, the entire house was awake.
His mom covered her mouth, eyes flooding instantly. His dad read the screen again and again like he didn't trust it. Ahaan yelled loud enough for the neighbors to hear, "Mummy! Bhaiya ka 87 aaya hai!"
Phones buzzed. Calls flooded in. Messages lit up his screen.
"congratulations, bhai," Ritvik said two hours later over the phone, grinning through the speaker. "Doctor sahab!"
Even Vihaan texted right after.
"Clean hit. Just don't forget us when you're having surgery on ministers."
Tara sent a string of clapping emojis followed by:
"Can I say I knew it? I knew it."
Everyone congratulated him.
The MCC website was simple, but the process felt like entering a new world.
He registered, uploaded his documents, and paid the fees.
When it came to choice filling, he knew what he wanted.
1. AIIMS Delhi
2. MAMC Delhi
3. VMMC & Safdarjung Hospital
4. UCMS Delhi
5. KGMU Lucknow
But in his heart, he had already chosen MAMC.
AIIMS might've been slightly higher-ranked, but he wanted to stay grounded, closer to his values. MAMC was historic, respected, and right in the heart of Delhi. It felt right.
Ten days later, the Round 1 result was released.
He sat at the dining table, laptop open, family behind him, screen bright.
He clicked on Allotment Result.
His name appeared.
Allotted Seat: Maulana Azad Medical College, New Delhi
Category: General | AIQ Round 1
There it was.
The final stamp.
His father stood behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder firm, proud, silent.
That evening, the family sat for dinner together quietly proud, and quietly overwhelmed.
His father placed his phone down and said, "Delhi is far. But not far enough to forget why you're going."
Ekansh just nodded, chewing slowly, not saying much.
But inside, something shifted.
Not joy. Not fear.
Something heavier, quieter.
Like stepping into your own shadow and finally filling it.
Present....
Four days after Vihaan left for Jaipur, it was Ekansh's turn.
The platform was quieter this time.
No big group. No chaos. Just a small circle standing under the digital clock at Platform 3.
Tara and Ayaan stood near the edge, hands in pockets, trying not to look too emotional. His younger brother Ahaan was clinging to his backpack like he might steal it and run. His mother had packed four different dabbas "just in case," and his father stern, proud, and in uniform had taken two days of leave to be here.
Ekansh stood silently, bag on his shoulder, trying to pretend this didn't feel heavier than it looked.
But something felt... unfinished.
Someone was missing.
He kept looking around casually, acting like he was just scanning the platform but his eyes moved faster every time the crowd shifted.
Vaani hasn't come.
And maybe she wasn't supposed to.
Maybe he shouldn't have expected it.
But he did.
And after a while, he stopped looking. At least outwardly.
Inside, though, the hope didn't go quietly.
Why would she come? It's not like we ever-
He cut off his own thoughts. Focused on Ahaan now, who was holding out a folded note.
The train rolled in. Loud and on time.
His father patted his shoulder firm, but soft in his own way. "Do what you're meant to. Enjoy your life to the fullest and study too."
His mother fixed his collar like he was still ten years old.
Then came the last hugs.
Maulana Azad Medical College.
The campus stood in the heart of Delhi old buildings, towering trees, and students who walked fast, studied harder, and looked like they hadn't slept in years.
Ekansh had reached.
He didn't say much during the orientation. Just listened.
Took notes.
Watched.
His hostel room was smaller than he expected white walls, one study desk, a ceiling fan that creaked when it rotated too fast, and a roommate who was too obsessed with physiology to speak in full sentences.
The first week passed in a blur of:
- Hostel formals
- Long queues for biometric ID cards
- Trying to memorize the location of lecture halls
- And cafeteria food that somehow managed to taste the same no matter what you ordered
Ekansh settled into a routine.
He didn't always reply on the group chat, but he read everything.
Every meme.
Every sarcastic remark from Tara.
Every passive-aggressive sticker sent by ahaan
Her name lit up occasionally on his phone never directly, just tagging others in the group.
He replied and used to call them too.
Despite the overwhelming syllabus and endless labs, Ekansh found his people.
Not many just a couple of first-years like him who didn't care about flexing AIR ranks.
There was Dev, the mess-food critic with a passion for pathology.
And Naisha ,who always carried a highlighter in her pocket like a weapon and once fell asleep mid-dissection.
With them, life felt lighter.
At night, he'd sometimes reread old conversations with Ritvik, ayaan and vihaan.
Or listen to old voice notes Ahaan had sent.
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