It was fall of 2004, and the corridors of MIT in Cambridge, Massachusetts, bustled with the brilliance of the world's best minds. Among them walked a boy of four—unseen, unnamed, and unnoticed.
Vijay had arrived.
He did not wear a uniform or blend in with the freshmen. No one knew his real age. On paper, he was a private international student from an exclusive Indian program, under an alias, with the highest entrance scores MIT had ever received. The name "Rayan Verma" became whispered folklore among professors within months. No one could verify his origins, and no one questioned it too loudly—the results silenced all doubt.
His identity was shielded by the jay family's immense wealth, carefully constructed backstories, and legal firewalls built by the finest minds in India. His purpose at MIT, however, was anything but concealed from his own heart.
**He was here to conquer knowledge. To refine his vision. To build the world that once ignored him.**
By day, he was a ghost in packed lecture halls, taking notes faster than the professors could write. By night, he was a machine—programming, solving research problems, and studying global business markets with the intensity of a CEO.
By the end of his first semester, he had already submitted three original research papers—one in theoretical physics, another in quantum computing, and one that revolutionized a niche algorithm in AI.
**Professors took notice. Secretly.**
Dr. Howard Krenshaw, a Nobel laureate in mathematics, once remarked to a colleague, "I don't know who this Verma kid is, but he might be the Newton of this century."
But Vijay kept his head down. No media appearances. No interviews. No awards accepted. His ambition wasn't to be famous. It was to build, to own, and to learn.
Between 2004 and 2007, Vijay completed six degrees:
* **Computer Science**
* **Business Administration**
* **Financial Management**
* **Mechanical Engineering**
* **Physics**
* **Mathematics**
Each degree was not just completed — it was dominated. He aced every paper, contributed to groundbreaking research, and became a silent partner in multiple innovation labs. He worked 20 hours a day, meditated for 30 minutes, slept for 3 to 4 hours, and maintained a strict physical regime in the underground gym.
Through proxies, coded avatars, and encrypted systems, Vijay began investing.
**And then he began acquiring.**
By 2005, he had:
* Purchased **10% equity in Google** right before its explosion
* Acquired **10% of Facebook**, still in its early Harvard-only phase
* Secretly negotiated **10% stakes in Apple and Microsoft**, during transitional leadership periods
By 2006:
* He had a silent share in **Tesla**, after identifying Elon Musk's vision early
* He obtained equity in **Marvel** and **Disney**, just before the MCU boom
* He added **Intel** and **Amazon** to his portfolio with sharp precision
All transactions were masked through dummy corporations, Swiss holdings, and front networks protected by elite lawyers. On the surface, it looked like a wave of lucky anonymous investors were riding the tech boom. In truth, it was a four-year-old child hidden inside a seventeen-year-old's world.
But beneath the empire he was building, ambition pulsed like a second heart.
Not a single rupee of his investments was used for leisure. Every dollar earned was reinvested, diversified, or used to purchase talent. He hired researchers, formed think tanks, and even began developing proprietary AI software in the deep web.
By 2007, Vijay's net worth — though still shadowed by his proxies — had crossed **\$48 billion**.
Yet no one knew
Emotionally, the journey tested him.
He was thousands of miles from home, away from the warmth of Rushein's lullabies and Shivraj's quiet wisdom. Though surrounded by brilliance, he often felt alone — not because others ignored him, but because no one could comprehend the distance between his mind and theirs.
Late at night, he would sit by the Charles River, hoodie pulled low, and think.
He would think of the orphanage.
Of the boy who once wanted to play cricket.
Of the dream that died under a car's wheels.
And of the man now reborn — driven by that pain.
"Ambition is my redemption," he once whispered to himself, watching the icy waters flow. "I don't need to be seen. I need to succeed."
By the time graduation came in summer 2007, Vijay — or rather, "Rayan Verma" — declined to walk the stage. The university prepared a seat for him. The professors prepared speeches.
He never came.
Instead, a plain letter was delivered to MIT's administration:
"To the institution that armed my mind with tools of the future — thank you. I leave now not as a student, but as a builder of tomorrow."
Signed: **R.V.**
Only Dr. Krenshaw suspected the truth. And he never told a soul.
Back in India, as the Raj family's jet sliced through the skies over the Atlantic, Vijay sat quietly in his cabin seat, his eyes half-closed, his posture still perfect.
Not yet.
First, he would go home.
To his mother's arms.
To silence the ache of absence.
And to prepare for the next phase — **influence**.