Back to Where I Fell

The TV in the hall kept playing the same news about Tasha Motors on repeat, the anchor's voice looping through the same lines—how the stock had fallen from ₹800 to ₹130, nearly wiping out most of its value.

I pushed my chair back and stood up, half-expecting something to happen again. For a moment, I thought I might collapse like before. I checked my breathing and my vision, waiting for something to feel wrong.

Nothing did.

My body felt… normal.

That didn't make sense.

The first time, I saw the number and blacked out immediately. This time, I saw the glow again—and nothing happened.

I stood there for a few seconds, trying to process it.

When I saw Tasha Motors in the lab, the number was ₹130. I lost consciousness right after. But just now, the glow appeared next to Vardhan AutoSystems Ltd.—₹255—and I was still standing.

Why?

I tried to piece it together, but my thoughts kept jumping from one possibility to another.

Was it because Tasha was crashing and this one might rise?

Or was it something else?

And even if it rises… when?

Tomorrow? Next week? Months later?

I ran through the moment in the lab again. The only reason I had been looking at stocks in the first place was because of Professor Anu's assignment.

That thought stayed.

I checked the time.

2:43 p.m.

I shut my laptop quickly and slid it into my bag, not even bothering to check if it was fully closed. I zipped it halfway, threw the bag over my shoulder, and stepped out of my room.

"Mom!" I called as I moved toward the door.

She turned from the kitchen, still in her office clothes, holding a spoon.

"I need to go back to college."

I didn't wait for her response. By the time she started saying, "Rishi, why ar—," I had already opened the door and stepped out.

I didn't stop.

There was a bus at 3 p.m.

If I missed it, I'd lose at least another 20–30 minutes waiting for the next one—and even that wasn't guaranteed. Buses were never on time.

If I wanted to meet Professor Anu today, this was my only chance.

I started running.

The strap of my bag dug into my shoulder as I moved faster, cutting through the narrow lane toward the main road.

I reached the stop just as the bus was pulling in.

Without thinking, I grabbed the side railing and pulled myself up while it was still moving.

There was no space inside.

Half my body stayed outside, hanging onto a metal bar I couldn't even see properly. The bus jerked forward, and I tightened my grip instinctively.

My laptop pressed hard against my back with every movement, the heat building up through the fabric of my shirt.

People around me seemed used to it.

No one reacted.

No one complained.

For them, this was normal.

I held on like that for several stops, adjusting my grip every time the bus turned or braked suddenly. My arms started to ache, but I didn't let go.

I didn't want to think about what would happen if I slipped.

By the time I reached college, I still had about fifteen minutes before closing.

Students were already heading out.

A few of them gave me confused looks as I walked in, like I had shown up at the wrong time.

Even the security guard paused for a second before asking for my ID.

I showed it quickly and walked past without saying much.

I went straight to the staff room.

Most of the cabinets were already closed. The room felt quieter than usual, almost empty.

For a moment, I thought I had missed her.

Then I saw her.

Professor Anu was still there, sitting at her desk, looking at her screen.

But something was different.

Her shoulders were tight, pulled up toward her ears like she was carrying weight she wouldn't put down. One hand pressed against her temple, fingers digging in slow circles. Her saree was the same vibrant color from this morning, but it looked wrinkled now, like she'd been sitting in that chair for hours longer than she planned.

I stepped closer.

Her screen glowed red.

Not the red of a warning light — the red of numbers bleeding. I couldn't read the exact figures from where I stood, but I saw enough. Tasha Motors. A long line of minus signs. A portfolio that had been cut open and left bleeding.

She didn't notice me at first.

She just stared at the screen, her face empty in a way that scared me more than anger would have. Like someone who had already finished being angry and was now just… tired.

Then she blinked.

Her hand dropped from her temple.

And she looked up.

"Rishi?"

Her voice was rough. Not the sharp, composed tone from class. Something thinner underneath.

"I thought you went home," she said. "I even called to check on you."

"I did," I said. My chest was still tight from running. "I came back."

She studied my face for a second, then gestured toward the chair beside her. "Sit."

I pulled the chair closer and sat down.

That's when I saw her screen clearly.

It was mostly red.

My eyes moved across the numbers without thinking. Tasha Motors stood out immediately. What had once been around ₹20,000 was now barely a fraction of that.

She followed my gaze and let out a quiet breath. "Bad timing," she said.

I hesitated for a moment. "Why did it fall this much?"

She leaned back slightly. "They made a big move recently. Acquired a UK-based luxury car company—Velrix Automotive. On paper, it looked strong. Entering a premium market, expanding globally…"

I nodded.

"But they took on a lot of debt to do it," she continued. "And when early reports suggested things weren't going as planned, investors reacted."

She turned her screen slightly, scrolling through a news article.

"Once confidence drops, people start selling. That creates pressure, the price falls, and then more people panic and sell. It becomes a chain reaction."

"And you held?" I asked.

She gave a small, tired smile. "I thought about selling last night. When the first news came in. But I delayed. I assumed it might stabilize."

Her eyes shifted back to the screen.

"That was my mistake."

She didn't look away. Outside, a door clicked shut somewhere down the corridor.

I leaned forward slightly. "Is it possible to predict when a stock is going to rise?"

She gave a faint smile. "If it were that simple, everyone would be rich."

I didn't react.

She noticed, and her tone shifted slightly.

"There's no perfect way to predict the market," she said. "Too many variables—company performance, global events, investor sentiment." Even rumors can move prices."

I nodded.

"That's why people use indicators," she continued. "Moving averages, patterns, volume… they don't tell you what will happen. They just help you understand what might happen."

"What's more likely?" I said.

She looked at me and nodded slowly. "Exactly. It's about probability, not certainty."

Her finger tapped lightly on the desk.

"When a big company stumbles, money doesn't just disappear. Investors look for somewhere else to put it. If they believe one company is weakening, they start moving into others—sometimes without much logic. Just whatever looks stable nearby."

I listened.

"That's where small profits happen," she said. "Not from brilliant predictions. Just from reading the flow of money correctly."

I hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Then… is there any chance Vardhan could benefit from this?"

She looked up. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. "Vardhan?"

"Vardhan AutoSystems," I said.

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes moving back to the screen. "They've been supplying components to Tasha for a few years now." She scrolled slowly. "If anything, Tasha struggling should affect them negatively. If production slows, suppliers usually take a hit too."

She paused.

Her brows narrowed as she looked at the data more carefully.

"So no," she said. "It doesn't directly make sense for them to benefit."

A silence settled between us.

She kept looking at the screen. I kept looking at the same line she had just passed over.

Vardhan AutoSystems Ltd.

₹255.

She glanced at it once more, almost as an afterthought. "Unless the market reacts differently. Sometimes investors don't immediately think about deeper connections. They just see one company falling and shift money into anything in the same space that looks relatively untouched."

She shook her head slightly. "But you can't rely on that. It's uncertain."

"But what if Vardhan rises?" I said quietly.

She turned to look at me slowly.

But I could already see it on her face—the slight parting of her lips, the way her eyes moved back to the screen almost involuntarily.

She wasn't dismissing it.

She was wondering.