Superstar of Madrika
On a gloomy spring evening, Rivaan sat alone on a garden bench, his posture tense yet still. His black wavy hair ruffled in the breeze, while his youthful, even-toned face bore the quiet weight of unease. His deep-set brown eyes remained fixed, a faint crease forming between his brows. The wind whispered through the leaves, setting the branches into a graceful sway, as if the entire garden moved to an unseen symphony. The sun dipped lower, surrendering the sky to the hues of approaching dusk.
Though the air was mild, a ripple of goosebumps stirred across Rivaan’s skin. His heart pounded—a steady, insistent rhythm echoing the unrest within him. Leaning back, he gazed into the distance, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing down on him.
Just last month, in January, sixteen-year-old Rivaan Dhavit had secured his place at the prestigious Madrika Academy of Robotics Technology. Situated three hundred thousand miles from Earth on the distant planet of Madrika, the academy was a beacon of innovation, renowned for its studies in robotics and automation, drawing the brightest minds from across the globe.
But now, doubt clung to him like a shadow. Deep in thought, he flinched at the sudden, gentle touch on his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat as he shot to his feet, turning sharply. Standing before him was his mother, Akira Dhavit—her eyes calm yet questioning, her presence both comforting and unnerving.
“Pleasant weather, isn’t it?” Akira said, her tone light, though her eyes seemed to probe beneath his hurried composure.
“Yeah,” Rivaan said quickly, his voice carrying a faint tremor. “Very pleasant.”
“Well then,” she said. “I better accompany you.”
She reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around Rivaan’s hand. Without a word, she guided him back to the bench, where they sat side by side. The evening air swirled around them, carrying the rustle of leaves and unspoken words that hung heavy between them.
“Your hand feels so cold!” Akira said, her voice tinged with concern as she looked at Rivaan closely.
“Um… is it?” Rivaan replied, pulling his hand away slightly and checking it with feigned nonchalance.
“Yes, it’s cold,” Akira insisted, her worry growing. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m completely fine,” Rivaan said quickly.
A flicker of fear crossed Rivaan’s face as the thought struck him—his mother might notice his unease. Panic gripped him for a moment, and without thinking, he shifted to the side, his movements quick and clumsy. As if to hide the trembling that betrayed him, he slipped his hand under his lap, pressing it there, hoping she wouldn’t see through his faltering composure.
“See, Rivaan,” his mother said gently, her voice tinged with concern. “I’ve been watching over you these past few days. You look lost somewhere. Today also, it’s the same—sitting here all alone. God knows what you’re thinking.”
“I wish you would understand my situation, Mum,” he murmured, the frustration slipping through his words.
“Then please, enlighten me,” she said, her tone now more soothing. “I’m here for you. I can surely help.”
Rivaan had grown weary of carrying the weight of his secrets alone. The thoughts churned within him, clawing at his mind, leaving him hollow and restless. He longed to confide in someone, to unburden himself—but a nagging doubt lingered. Who would believe him? He drew a shaky breath, his voice low and trembling with an eerie undertone, and spoke.
“These past couple of weeks, I’ve been sort of regretting my decision to go to Madrika,” Rivaan confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Seriously?” His mother’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’ve always talked about going to Madrika, following in your father’s footsteps. It’s been your dream for years—”
“Yeah, it was my dream,” Rivaan interrupted, his voice heavy with doubt. “I always wanted to go there, but things have changed. I do not think I am ready for that academy.”
“What made you think that?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
“Well… it’s because of Dad,” he replied, the words laced with hesitation, the weight of his father’s legacy pressing down on him.
“What! What are you saying?” Her voice trembling with a mix of shock and disbelief. Her eyes widened, and her brows shot up, carving lines of worry across her forehead. The expression on her face was one of sheer terror, as though the ground beneath her had shifted without warning.
“Pardon me, I did not mean it that way,” Rivaan said hurriedly, his eyes flashing with worry. “I am truly proud of my dad.”
“Then how exactly is your father responsible for this?” she said.
“Dad achieved so much during his time at the academy,” Rivaan said, his voice tinged with both awe and apprehension. “The stories he shared—the milestones he reached—they feel impossibly far from anything I could ever accomplish. I cannot even imagine achieving half of what he did. What if… what if I let him down?”
His words trailed off, heavy with the weight of expectation and self-doubt, his gaze fixed on the ground as if searching for answers in the dirt beneath his feet.
Akira paused, her expression softening as she drew a quiet breath. Her gaze lingered on him, searching for something unspoken, before she finally found the words.
“All this time, this is what you’ve been brewing in your mind?” Her tone both surprised and firm. “Look, Rivaan, you’re underestimating yourself. Why are you wasting time thinking about failing even before you’ve even tried?”
Rivaan’s shoulders slumped, his voice barely a whisper.
“Sorry, Mum, but I’m really scared,” Rivaan confessed. “Ever since last week, Dad is been sharing stories about his time at Madrika. Within half an hour, I lost track of all the incredible things he accomplished there. Did you know he was called the ‘Superstar of Madrika’? And he still remembers every single workshop, every project he worked on. And those prototypes of his—they were not just impressive. They either became part of the campus infrastructure or won medals at the Annual Function.”
“As far as I can see, your father is trying to prepare you, Rivaan. All those stories, the workshops, and projects—he’s not trying to intimidate you. He’s giving you a glimpse of what’s ahead, so you’re ready for what the academy will ask of you. He’s just sharing what you’ll experience, so you’re not caught off guard.”
“But tell me, how should I deal with this?” Rivaan asked, his voice tinged with anxiety. “Dad is a perfectionist about everything. If I mess up even once at the academy, he will be so disappointed.”
“Why are you fearing something that hasn’t even happened yet? Akira replied, her tone steady. And who said your father’s a perfectionist? Didn’t he ever tell you about the time he got rusticated?”
“Dad got rusticated?” Rivaan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “But, why?”
“I don’t know. You better ask your father about this story too,” she said, raising an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes.
Rivaan froze, the words echoing in his mind like a thunderclap. It couldn’t be true. His father—the man he had idolized all his life, the one he believed to be flawless, untouchable—had done something so grievous it led to rustication? The Vice President of the Executive Council of Madrika, a man revered across the land, couldn’t possibly have made such a misstep. Rivaan’s chest tightened as memories of praise and admiration flooded back, the stories of his father’s greatness told and retold since childhood. Especially over the past few weeks, he had come to see his father as a symbol of perfection.
Later that night, as the clock struck dinner time, the housemaid busied herself with setting the table. Rivaan took his seat opposite his father, Ishaan Dhavit, who was engrossed in his phone. Rivaan’s eyes kept darting toward his father, his mind a whirlwind of questions. How should he start? Should he ask directly? No, that would be a terrible idea. He kept rehearsing scenarios in his mind, each one feeling more awkward than the last.
Akira emerged from the kitchen; a steaming bowl cradled carefully in her hands. She placed it on the table before settling down beside Ishaan. Noticing her arrival, Ishaan set his phone aside, his posture shifting to one of quiet anticipation as he waited for the meal to be served.
“It’s Rivaan’s favorite dish. I made it myself,” Akira said, unveiling a steaming bowl of Paneer Kofta with a satisfied smile.
“Looks like Rivaan is in for a treat this week,” Ishaan remarked, his lips curling into a rare smile.
“Of course,” Akira replied, her voice warm with affection. “Before he leaves for Madrika at the end of the week, I’ll make sure he gets a series of delicious dinners to remember.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Rivaan said casually, swallowing a bite of food without much enthusiasm.
Normally, Rivaan would savor every morsel of his favorite dish, licking his fingers clean with delight. But tonight, the flavors felt muted, the joy missing. His mind was too preoccupied, his thoughts swirling relentlessly. Sometimes, he found himself chewing longer than necessary, lost in his worries. The food failed to satisfy him.
He glanced up briefly, noting how his parents were focused on their meal. Clearing his throat slightly, he broke the silence.
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, go on,” Ishaan replied, his eyes still fixed on his plate as he continued eating.
“Um… just in general,” Rivaan began, trying to sound casual. “Is the academy strict with its rules?”
Ishaan paused, finally looking up at Rivaan.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully. “It depends. Both yes and no.”
“Okay…” Rivaan murmured, furrowing his brows and nodding, as if that answer had satisfied his curiosity.
“Don’t worry,” Akira said, sipping her water. “You won’t get rusticated. Just because I told you about it doesn’t mean you need to worry.”
“What did you tell him?” Ishaan asked, swallowing his food.
“Oh, I just told him about your rustication,” Akira replied, her tone light.
“Really?” Ishaan’s voice hardened, a sharp edge creeping in. “Is that something a parent should tell their kids? Especially if they’re going to that place?”
Ishaan’s face flushed crimson, his mood shifting from calm to frustration in an instant. He shot a glare at Akira, who, taken aback, set her glass down slowly. For a moment, her expression was one of complete shock. Rivaan, too, was stunned. His mouth hung open, both in disbelief and because he had just taken a bite of his food. The sudden change in his father’s tone made him swallow quickly. He stole a glance at his mother, wondering if this really just happened.
“Calm down, Ishaan,” Akira said softly, her voice soothing. “I just told him that you were rusticated once. Nothing more.”
“You know what? I’m done for today,” Ishaan snapped, pushing his chair back and heading toward the washbasin across the room.
“Hey… what’s going on?” Akira stood up, concern creasing her brow. “At least finish your meal.”
“No,” Ishaan replied curtly, still fuming. “You’re doing a great job educating our son about Madrika.”
“I know what to say and what not to say,” Akira countered, her voice firm but calm.
She followed Ishaan to the washbasin, but he ignored her, his hands moving brusquely under the water. After a moment, he stormed off upstairs. Akira, pleading quietly, received no response. She sighed, washed her hands, and glanced back at Rivaan before heading up after him.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice gentle. “Finish your meal. Everything is fine.”
Rivaan’s heart sank, weighed down by guilt. His mother and father had a squabble because of him. Yet, amidst the chaos, one thought dominated his mind. What could his father have done at the academy to warrant rustication? The question lingered like a storm cloud, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Whispers of defiance, perhaps, or a breach of the academy’s protocols? Rivaan had always been cautious, even reserved, but beneath that composed exterior, a tempest might have brewed—a choice, an action, or maybe a truth too dangerous to reveal. The answer lay shrouded in his silence, hidden within the depths of his troubled eyes.
