Arjun’s parents were supportive but not wealthy. His father was a schoolteacher, and his mother ran a tailoring shop. They invested all they could in his education, encouraging his passion. In classes 11 and 12, Arjun worked tirelessly, preparing for the Engineering Entrance Examination, the golden key to the top engineering institutes of India.

He spent late nights under the dim light of a study lamp, solving physics problems and memorising formulas. His walls were plastered with charts of Newton’s laws, Bernoulli’s principle, and diagrams of jet engines. He believed that if he worked hard enough, nothing could stop him.

But when the results came, the world seemed to collapse around him.

Arjun had failed to secure even the qualifying marks.

He stared at the computer screen in disbelief, refreshing the page again and again. His hands trembled. His parents tried to console him, but he felt crushed. The boy who had once seen the sky as a limitless canvas now felt trapped on the ground.

In the weeks that followed, he sank into despair. He avoided his friends, ashamed of his failure. Relatives whispered behind his back, some even saying that perhaps engineering wasn’t “his cup of tea.” For Arjun, those words pierced deeper than any wound. He began to question himself: Was I foolish to dream so big?

One evening, as Arjun sat silently on the roof, watching yet another airplane cross the twilight sky, his father joined him. For a long time, they sat in silence. Finally, his father spoke:

“Do you know, Arjun, when I was your age, I wanted to be a writer. But life forced me into teaching. I don’t regret it, but I always wonder what might have been if I had tried harder. Dreams don’t end because of one failure. They end only when you stop chasing them.”

Those words struck Arjun like lightning. For the first time in weeks, he realised that failing an exam didn’t mean failing his dream. He still loved aerospace. He still loved science. Maybe the path wouldn’t be straight, but he could still walk it.

That night, Arjun took out his old notebook and wrote a single line on the first page:

“I will touch the sky, no matter how many times I fall.”

Arjun decided not to give up. Instead of reappearing immediately for the same exam, he shifted his focus. He enrolled in a local engineering college with a modest rank he had managed in another entrance test. The college wasn’t prestigious, and the facilities were basic, but Arjun made up his mind: If the college couldn’t give him the best opportunities, he would create them for himself.

The initial days were tough. Many of his classmates were demotivated, content with mediocrity. Some mocked Arjun’s obsession with aerospace. The library had only a handful of books on aerodynamics, and the labs were poorly equipped. Arjun often felt frustrated, but instead of surrendering, he sought resources elsewhere.

He began spending hours on free online courses, watching lectures from MIT and IIT professors on YouTube. He joined forums where engineering enthusiasts discussed propulsion systems and satellite design. He emailed professors from other universities, asking questions and seeking guidance. Some never replied, but a few did, and their words kept him going.

Arjun also started building small models at home. With scrap metal, old motors, and even cardboard, he constructed makeshift airplanes and rockets. Many failed miserably—crashing, breaking, or simply refusing to move. But each failure taught him something. Slowly, his designs improved.

The journey was far from easy.

Financial Struggles: His family could barely afford his tuition. To ease the burden, Arjun gave tuitions to younger students in physics and math. Sometimes he would spend the entire day teaching and studying, with barely enough time to sleep.

Isolation: While his friends moved on with their lives, many getting jobs or enjoying college festivals, Arjun remained focused. He often felt lonely, left out of the carefree fun of youth.

Self-Doubt: There were nights when exhaustion made him cry silently into his pillow. He wondered if he was chasing an impossible dream. Each rejection letter from internships or aerospace labs cut him deeply.

But every time doubt crept in, he would go back to his notebook, read his vow, and start again.

In his third year, Arjun’s persistence bore fruit. He participated in a national-level competition organised by the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO) for students to design a low-cost satellite model.

He had no fancy lab, no expensive equipment. But with creativity and determination, he and a small team of like-minded students worked day and night. They designed a model using affordable components, focusing on innovation rather than resources.

Against all odds, their project won second prize.

For Arjun, this was more than an award—it was validation. He was invited to present his work at a seminar, where he interacted with real aerospace engineers. One of them, impressed by his passion, encouraged him to apply for research internships.

That conversation lit a new fire in him.

Arjun realised that his earlier failure wasn’t due to a lack of intelligence, but due to a poor preparation strategy. He had focused too much on cramming formulas rather than understanding concepts deeply. This time, he changed his approach.

He began studying with clarity, emphasising fundamentals rather than shortcuts.

He learned time management, balancing college, self-study, and part-time teaching.

Most importantly, he learned resilience—the ability to stand back up after falling.

When he appeared for the Graduate Aptitude Test in Engineering (GATE) in his final year, he performed exceptionally well, securing a rank that opened doors to prestigious institutions.

Arjun was admitted into a Master’s program in Aerospace Engineering at a reputed IIT. For him, walking into those labs, seeing actual wind tunnels and propulsion systems, was like stepping into heaven. He absorbed everything like a sponge, spending countless hours on research.

Even then, challenges continued. The coursework was demanding, research papers were often rejected, and competition was fierce. But Arjun was no longer the boy who broke after failure. He had been forged in fire.

After completing his Master’s, Arjun applied for a position at ISRO. The interview panel questioned him rigorously, testing not only his knowledge but also his perseverance. When he received the appointment letter months later, he held it with trembling hands, tears streaming down his face.

He had done it.

Years later, as Arjun stood on the launch site, watching a rocket he had contributed to roar into the sky, he remembered the boy who once failed an entrance exam and thought his dreams were over.

He realised now that failure wasn’t the opposite of success—it was a part of it. If he hadn’t failed, he would never have learned resilience, creativity, and the ability to rise again.

The journey had been long, painful, and filled with obstacles. But every hardship, every sleepless night, every tear had shaped him into the man who now helped rockets touch the stars.

Looking up at the fiery trail cutting through the sky, Arjun whispered to himself:

“The sky was never out of reach. I just had to learn how to fly.”

.    .    .