Date: January 17, 2009
Time: 6:00 AM
Location: Aritra's Bedroom, Dakshin Barasat
The faint light of dawn crept through the thin cotton curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the walls of Aritra's modest room. The air was cool, crisp with the lingering touch of winter. Aritra sat hunched over his desk, his eyes sharp despite the dark circles forming underneath them. The Legendary System's faint glow flickered in the corner of his laptop screen, but his focus wasn't on futuristic technology today.
It was on textbooks.
Stacks of them.
Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics, Bengali, and English—each one filled with scribbled notes, dog-eared pages, and highlighted sections from cover to cover. The board exams were just over a month away, starting from March 2nd, and for once, Aritra wasn't thinking about stocks, companies, or even the system.
He was thinking about marks.
His notebook lay open in front of him, a fresh page titled in bold letters:
"BOARD EXAM STRATEGY – REVISED"
The ink was still wet, his handwriting slightly slanted from the speed at which he'd written.
Aritra's mind raced—not just with the pressure of upcoming exams, but with memories from his previous life. He could almost visualize the old exam papers, the specific questions that had repeated themselves year after year. Descriptive questions worth 15 marks, 5 marks, and tricky objective-type problems flashed before his eyes like scenes from a movie.
"If I can remember even 70% of those questions, I'll ace this."
He jotted down topics from memory:
Physics: Laws of Motion, Thermodynamics, Ray Optics, Modern Physics Chemistry: Solid State, Electrochemistry, Chemical Kinetics, Organic Reactions Mathematics: Calculus, Probability, Matrices, Vectors, Coordinate Geometry Bengali & English: Essays, Comprehensions, Grammar, and Literary Analyses
Aritra wasn't just going to study.
He was going to master these subjects.
Repetition. Practice. Perfection.
Time: 7:00 AM
The house slowly stirred to life. His mother's faint footsteps echoed from the kitchen as the clinking of utensils signaled the start of another day. The familiar aroma of brewing tea filled the air, mingling with the distant sound of temple bells from the neighborhood shrine.
But Aritra didn't move from his desk.
His world had shrunk down to a battle between him and the pages in front of him. His hand moved swiftly, solving problem after problem. Calculus derivatives flowed seamlessly, chemical equations balanced themselves under his pen, and Bengali essays began to form with poetic ease.
At 8:30 AM, Aritra's phone buzzed softly. It was a message from his secretary.
"Sir, regarding the factory construction update and employee recruitment status. Please confirm when to schedule the next meeting."
For a brief second, the real world crept back in—the company, the investments, the empire he was silently building.
Aritra exhaled sharply, picked up his phone, and typed:
"You handle everything for now. I'm focusing on my board exams. Only contact me if it's urgent."
He hit 'send' and placed the phone face down.
Right now, he wasn't a CEO.
He was just a student.
A boy with textbooks, dreams, and an exam that could define his future.
The Study Routine
Aritra's days blurred into a relentless cycle:
6:00 AM: Wake up, light exercise to sharpen focus. 6:30 AM - 9:00 AM: Physics practice—numerical problems, derivations, and conceptual analysis. 9:00 AM - 9:30 AM: Quick breakfast with minimal distractions. 9:30 AM - 12:00 PM: Chemistry deep dive—organic reactions, mechanisms, and tricky equations. 12:00 PM - 1:00 PM: Short break—mental reset with light reading or a walk. 1:00 PM - 4:00 PM: Mathematics marathons—calculus problems, probability models, and coordinate geometry. 4:00 PM - 5:00 PM: Bengali and English practice—essay writing, comprehension passages, and grammar drills. 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM: Revision of the day's topics. 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Light snacks, relaxation, maybe a chat with parents. 7:00 PM - 10:00 PM: Practice papers—simulating exam conditions to build speed and accuracy. 10:00 PM: Reflection, planning for the next day, and sleep.
Date: January 25, 2009
A week into this intense routine, Aritra's progress was undeniable. His confidence grew with each solved problem, each perfected essay. His handwriting became neater, his thoughts sharper, his mind more focused than it had ever been.
But the real transformation wasn't just academic.
It was personal.
For the first time, Aritra wasn't chasing something out of fear—fear of failure, rejection, or disappointment. He was chasing excellence for himself. Not for Rimi. Not for his parents. Not even for the legendary system.
Just for Aritra Naskar.
The days grew shorter as January melted into February, yet for Aritra, time seemed to stretch and compress in strange, uneven ways. The sun rose and set in its usual rhythm, but his world had become detached from that natural cycle. The outside world—the bustling markets of Dakshin Barasat, the daily gossip of neighbors, even the distant chants from the Kali Mandir—blurred into background noise, mere whispers against the roaring storm of equations, theories, and essays raging inside his mind.
Each morning began before the first rays of sunlight touched the earth. The faint chirping of early birds often served as his alarm, but more often than not, Aritra was already awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying formulas and key concepts from the day before. Sleep had become fragmented—less a necessity and more a reluctant concession. He would drift off with the periodic table dancing behind his eyelids or Newton's laws echoing softly in the corners of his mind.
His room transformed into a battlefield. Textbooks lay scattered like fallen soldiers, pages marked with scribbles and highlighter streaks. Notes, flashcards, and practice papers were pinned haphazardly to the walls, each one a reminder of the war he was waging against time and memory. His desk, once cluttered with gadgets and miscellaneous items, was now an altar to academics: stacks of neatly arranged books, pens with worn-out grips, and a small clock that ticked with a relentless reminder of the approaching board exams.
Despite the chaos of paper and ink, Aritra's focus remained razor-sharp. The system—once the center of his ambitions—now sat quietly in the background, a silent observer to his academic fervor. Occasionally, its soft glow would catch his eye, tempting him with promises of futuristic technologies and financial empires. But he resisted. The real test wasn't in the numbers on a screen or the value of stocks. It was in the ink-stained pages of his notebooks, the precision of his handwriting, and the clarity of his thoughts.
The preparation wasn't just about rote memorization. Aritra's approach was methodical, strategic. He would sit for hours, eyes narrowed in concentration, trying to recall questions from his past life. Each memory was like a puzzle piece, fragile and fragmented, but he pieced them together with stubborn determination. He could almost hear the rustle of exam papers from that distant life, feel the cold metal of the desks under his fingertips, and see the questions printed in fading ink—questions that had once stumped him but now served as stepping stones.
Physics became both his nemesis and his muse. He wrestled with concepts of thermodynamics, visualized vectors slicing through imaginary planes, and traced the delicate dance of light in ray optics diagrams. The once-daunting derivations became familiar pathways, the logic behind each formula unraveling like the verses of a poem he had finally memorized.
Chemistry was a different beast—less poetic, more ruthless in its precision. Organic reactions blurred into chains of carbons, bonds breaking and forming like relationships in the chaotic theater of his own life. The periodic table wasn't just a chart anymore; it was a map of interactions, behaviors, and exceptions that refused to be forgotten. The pungent memory of laboratory chemicals occasionally drifted into his thoughts, mingling with the scent of old books and midnight coffee.
Mathematics, however, was where Aritra found solace. The absolute nature of numbers, the predictable elegance of calculus, the symmetry of coordinate geometry—it was comforting. Unlike people, numbers didn't lie. They didn't leave. They didn't disappoint. They followed rules, patterns, and structures, all waiting to be discovered and conquered. His notebooks filled with equations, each solved problem a small victory in a war only he knew he was fighting.
Yet, amidst the academic rigor, life outside his room continued. His parents, though puzzled by his newfound intensity, gave him space, exchanging worried glances over dinner as he mechanically answered their questions with nods and monosyllables. The warmth of family meals faded into background noise, much like the world beyond the walls of his study. Conversations became distractions, and distractions were enemies.
Occasionally, the silence of his room would be broken by the soft buzz of his phone—a message from his secretary, updates about the company, project deadlines, and business proposals waiting for his attention. Aritra would glance at the screen, read the message, and then lock the phone without replying. His instructions had been clear: "Handle everything. I'm focusing on my board exams." And she did, like a well-oiled machine, keeping the wheels of his secret empire turning while he buried himself in textbooks.
Despite his singular focus, there were moments when the weight of it all pressed down on him. Late at night, when the world outside was quiet and the dim glow of his study lamp cast long shadows, he would pause, his pen hovering over paper, his thoughts spiraling into doubts. What if I fail? What if all this effort isn't enough? The fear wasn't of failure itself, but of the possibility that despite his knowledge, despite his second chance, he might still fall short.
But those moments were fleeting. He had lived through failure before. He had felt the sting of disappointment, the hollow ache of regret. This time, he was prepared—not just with knowledge, but with the resilience that came from having lost once and refusing to lose again.
As February crept in, the tension grew thicker, both in the air and in Aritra's chest. The countdown had begun, each day crossed off the calendar like a step closer to the edge of a cliff. Yet, with every page he turned, every problem he solved, and every essay he perfected, he felt a strange sense of control.
It wasn't just about passing the exams. It was about proving something—to himself more than anyone else. That he could rise above his past. That he could rewrite his story. That he was more than just a boy with regrets and second chances.
On the night before the board exams were set to begin, Aritra stood by his window, staring at the moon hanging low in the sky, its pale light washing over the sleepy town of Dakshin Barasat. The streets were quiet, the world holding its breath, as if waiting with him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered to the darkness, "I'm ready."