The slums were illuminated by the morning sun, and their narrow lanes were bustling with people. Men and women hurried through their daily activities, looking for any work they could find for the day.
Ayaan's mind raced as he walked through the narrow alleys, recalling the match he watched on the phone. The experience had left an indelible impression on him. He had never imagined that people could achieve fame and fortune by fighting each other until that day.
His nose caught the scent of freshly brewed tea filling the air from a nearby stall, and he decided to take a break from his stroll through the slums to enjoy a cup.
"Aeyy Dada, give me a cup of tea with some biscuits."
"Do you even have the money for it, rascal?" The old man, who was the owner of the stall, asked.
Ayaan reached into his worn shirt's front pocket and pulled out a crumpled 10 rupee note. He held it up to the elderly man who was tending to the steaming kettles of tea.
He found an open spot on the ground and sat down in the corner, lost in his thoughts about the match he had just watched.
"I always wanted to do something big, but I didn't have any money or resources to do it. I can't even study because I can't pay the fees.
"Maybe fighting like that is my option. I can't live my whole life here alone in the slums."
"Here, take it, kid." The raspy voice of the old man, who handed him a steaming cup of tea and a few biscuits, interrupted his musings.
As he savored the warm tea and crunchy biscuits, he abruptly turned to the elderly man and inquired.
"Aeyy Dada, Do you know any place where you can fight?"
The old man was puzzled by Ayaan's question. He rubbed his brows, deep in thought. He eventually responded with a deep sigh.
"Do you mean like the boxing thing?"
"Yeah, whatever it is called."
"There is one, but it is a little further inside the city. It might take you all evening to simply reach there, but if you took the bus, you can reach there in 2 hours."
As he weighed his options, he dipped his biscuit into the steaming tea, savoring the sweet, warm taste. Ayaan knew that taking the bus could cost him all of his hard-earned savings from shoe polishing, but he couldn't afford to miss out on this opportunity.
"This is the only way," he determined, ready to take the risk and board the bus to reach his destination.
He was done with his tea and biscuit. As he handed over the money, the old man scribbled instructions on a small piece of white paper, indicating the bus route and stop from which he could board.
Ayaan folded the paper carefully and placed it in his pocket, grateful for the old man's advice.
He made his way to a small tent in the midst of the bustling slums. He reached inside and took a cloth bag containing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He made his way to the bus stop, tying the bag behind his back.
Ayaan remembered being abandoned as a baby in the slums where he grew up. Every day, he fought tooth and nail to stay alive, never knowing the warmth of a loving family or a proper meal.
There were days when he went to sleep with an empty stomach, and the struggle to make ends meet only seemed to get harder with each passing day.
Ayaan felt a glimmer of hope as he boarded the bus with his cloth bag. He had a goal for the first time in his life. The Octagon match had given him something to aim for, a goal to strive for.
He could feel the disdainful gazes and silent curses of those around him. But he paid no attention to them because he knew that, for the one who strives for greatness, there will be a lot of fools trying to drag him down in life.
During the two-hour bus ride, Ayaan sat restlessly, his mind racing with anticipation for what was to come.
He jumped out of the bus as soon as it came to a stop and fished out the crumpled white note that the old man had given him earlier.
Ayaan carefully read the note, paying close attention to each instruction.
He didn't want to overlook anything that could lead him astray. He set out to follow the instructions to the letter once he had a clear understanding.
He walked towards his destination, his excitement growing with each step. He made his way through the winding alleys and narrow lanes, constantly looking at the note for directions.
Finally, he arrived at his destination after a 15-minute journey filled with anticipation and a few wrong turns.
A spark ignited in his black eyes as they widened with excitement upon seeing the big board that hung above what appeared to be a gym.
The board read, "The Boxing Land."
Pushing open the door, the pungent smell of sweat filled his nostrils. His gaze was drawn to a group of young men, some adults, and even a few old-timers sweating profusely as they practiced and exercised.
There were two massive boxing rings in the center of the room, and fighters were sparring inside them, their gloved hands landing swift and powerful blows while protected by headgear.
The balding old man approached him, his gaze sweeping over his entire being. He couldn't help but notice the child's frail frame, disheveled black hair, filthy nails, and rugged clothes. Despite this, the child was nearly six feet tall.
"Oi, what are you here for, kid?" The old man asked.
"I want to fight," Ayaan replied.
"Do you even have the money to take the admission here?"
The words hit him like a ton of bricks as he realized he had spent all of his money on the bus ticket. How could he have forgotten that he'd have to pay to train at this gym?
"I... I will do anything here; I will clean toilets and floors. I can even run errands for everyone, but please don't kick me out.
"I have spent everything whatever I had to come here."
"I only have one goal now; I want to fight there." He pointed his finger toward a poster.
The people around him perked up their ears and turned to look at him. Their attention was drawn to the poster hanging beside the bald man.
Their jaws were wide open when they saw the champion, Donal O'Connor, standing inside the octagon ring, flaunting his belt.
"He sent a challenge today after the match that he will be waiting for someone, and I want to be that guy.
"I want to be the one to beat his ass in front of thousands of people."
The bald man searched the child's eyes for signs of doubt or fear, but all he saw was a fiery determination.
He knew right then and there that this kid was serious about his dream of competing in the octagon.
"Go take a shower first in the bathroom, You stink."