My cousin Raju, the one from Pune who still thinks frosted tips are a good look, he’s the one who got me into this Aviator mess. He shows me his phone, grinning like a fool who just found a ten-rupee note in an old pair of jeans. And on his screen? So there it is. This… thing.
Look, calling it a game is a joke. It’s just an exercise in pure anxiety that looks like a little red plane, flown by some cruel, invisible force. Yeah, the graphics are all blocky and ‘retro’ to look harmless, but don’t be fooled. It feels like I’m just watching my cash strapped to a tiny bomb. A bomb with wings. And the fuse is definitely burning.
So you’re just glued to the screen, watching it climb. This little red plane takes off, slow at first, and the multiplier starts ticking up… 1.1x… 1.5x… The plane gets a little higher, and hey, a tiny part of your soul lights up. But then? Then you’re just waiting. Just waiting for it to fly away. The party-pooper. And your whole bet just vanishes. Poof. Literally.
That moment it flies away… it’s not just the plane disappearing. It’s the text on the screen. Flew Away! In a specific, angry, vindictive red. You know the colour of the stain after you’ve eaten a beetroot curry and it gets on your best white shirt? That’s the one. A colour that just screams ‘you’ve made a terrible mistake’. And the feeling when it appears? It’s that awful, sinking feeling, like leaning back too far in a chair and realizing there’s nothing behind you. A second ago, I was a financial god, a real genius. Then, boom. I’m an idiot staring at the wreckage of my own brilliant idea. And the screen? It just stares back. Blank. Unblinking. Oh, it’s personal. I tell you.
👉 Losing My Lunch Money to Aviator
So anyway, where was I? Right, the plane. The whole thing has this weird droning sound as it climbs, a soft whirr-whirr-whirr that for some reason reminds me of the sound my dad’s old table fan used to make on hot afternoons. He would sit there for hours, the fan just whirring away, and the whole room would smell of old books and something else, something warm. It’s a nice memory to have in the middle of a panic attack over a digital airplane. Very helpful.
And you’re just staring at it. Staring at your phone like some kind of sad yogi trying to find enlightenment in a screen. You see your winnings go up. A little bit. Then a little bit more. And your brain does this funny little flip. I mean, it’s not even about the money anymore, is it? It’s about being right. It’s about telling that stupid, little red plane that you know better. That you’re smarter than the algorithm. You will decide when this ride ends.
But you won’t.
Because there are other people on this flight. You see their bets jumping ship. Cashing out. One by one. It’s like they all got a secret message you didn’t. Did Raju tell them to jump? Is he in on it? That little traitor. And this growing dread starts in your stomach, feels like you’ve swallowed a cold stone, and you think maybe they know something maybe they are the smart ones. You get this overwhelming urge to just press the button and escape. To take your paltry winnings and run away to the hills.
But then there’s pride, right? That expensive little monster. That stupid voice in your head, it starts whispering… ‘Hold on. Just a little longer. Champions don’t jump early.’ So you hold on. Of course you do. And then the plane vanishes. You’re no champion. You’re just the idiot who turned tonight’s biryani money into thin air. Again.
South London & Maudsley NHS Trust, UK
