𝐓𝐮𝐦 𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐤

1

In Mumbai ~

Neel cruised down the college hallway, the bass pulsing from his earbuds a counterpoint to the studious murmur around him. Every polished surface in his life reflected a future laid out for him like a red carpet – a future in gleaming chrome and flashing server lights, the tech empire his father had built waiting for him to step in. Mr. Kapoor, a titan of the industry, expected nothing less. Mrs. Kapoor, draped in the latest collections from her own fashion house, doted on Neel, lavishing him with him with affection and every privilege imaginable.

But behind the facade of designer clothes and the latest gadgets, Neel felt a dull ache. The music that thrummed through his veins, the yearning to create, to lose himself in the world he built note by note – that was the life he craved. Yet, the thought of his parents' disappointment, their bewildered frowns, was a weight that threatened to crush his dreams.

A sharp ringtone pierced his reverie. It was Rihanna. Unlike Neel, his sister was a whirlwind of defiance, a splash of rebellion in their otherwise picture-perfect family portrait. Their mother barely tolerated her, her every action a silent accusation in Mrs. Oberoi's eyes. Yet, for Neel, Rihanna was a beacon of authenticity, a constant reminder that there was life beyond the gilded cage they inhabited.

Taking a breath, Neel ducked into a deserted alcove and answered the call. "Hey Ri," he said, his voice guarded. "What's up?" 

"Neel, you won't believe it!" Rihanna's voice crackled through the phone, a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "There's this underground music competition happening tonight, down by the docks. Winner gets studio time! I was thinking…" 

Neel's heart hammered against his ribs. This was it, a chance, a crack in the carefully constructed reality of his life. But the familiar weight of expectation settled on him.  What would his parents say?  Could he take this leap? 

He glanced down at his schedule – nothing but a free evening seminar on "The Future of Cloud Computing." It was a joke, really. He already knew the future – it was his destiny staring back at him from the screen.

"Ri," he finally said, a tremor in his voice. "Tell me more about this competition."
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In Dehradun~

The aroma of freshly brewed chai filled the air as Malang sat at the breakfast table with his parents. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting warm patches on the worn wooden table.

"So, tell us more about this photography course, beta," his mother said, her voice laced with a hint of curiosity.

Malang, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, launched into a passionate explanation. "It's not just about taking pictures, Ma. It's about capturing a moment, a feeling. A single photograph can tell a story, freeze a fleeting expression in time."

His father, a man whose life revolved around numbers and calculations, listened intently. "Interesting," he finally said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "But photography as a career? Are you sure, son?"

Malang understood the unspoken question. Photography wasn't exactly a stable profession in their small town of Dehradun. Yet, he pressed on. "I know it won't be easy, Papa. But this is what I'm passionate about. I see the world differently through a lens."

Just then, a deep, raspy cough echoed from the living room. It was Malang's grandfather, a stern man with a handlebar mustache and a permanent frown etched on his face. He shuffled in, his gaze falling on the camera Malang held protectively.

"What's this nonsense?" his grandfather barked, his voice heavy with disapproval. "You think playing with these fancy gadgets will put food on the table? Don't you see how hard your parents work? And you want to waste their sacrifice on this frivolous pursuit?"