My name was Nikhil Reddy.
Born and bred in Hyderabad. Son of a middle-class Telugu family. Software engineer, backend wizard, polyglot, and part-time philosopher staring into Vim and void.
I wasn't just a programmer. I was a problem-solver. A systems guy. A builder.
I spoke six languages fluently: English, Telugu, Hindi, Kannada, Spanish, and French. Languages weren't hard—just patterns. Like code. You learn to listen before you learn to speak.
My 9-to-6 IT job? More like 6-to-11. Infotech Sphere Solutions was the kind of company where the slogan should've been "Eat. Code. Die." We were clocking 14+ hour shifts under fluorescent lights, debugging someone else's mess for clients who couldn't pronounce "asynchronous."
---
I was 29.
Tired, but not broken.
I had responsibilities. My parents, still alive and still believing I'd escape the grind someday. My brother Ravi was in engineering college—barely. My sister Sneha, full of fire, studying for MBBS and pretending she wasn't scared of failing.
I was their shield.
Every EMI, every festival, every awkward family WhatsApp group—I handled it. With code, savings, and a ₹2 crore life insurance policy.
Because if I ever failed… I needed to know they'd be okay.
---
The joke?
I died on my wedding day.
Wearing a golden sherwani. On a Bajaj Pulsar. Racing against traffic, already late. My mom had packed sweets in my pocket. Priya, my fiancée, was waiting at the mandap.
And then… it happened.
**Truck-kun.**
Just like in the anime forums. But real. Too real. Too fast.
Screeching brakes. A shattering impact.
Darkness.
---
I thought death would feel different. But it was just… a pause. A reboot.
Then—sound.
A heartbeat.
Not mine. But close.
Muffled voices. Heat. Pressure. Movement.
And then…
Light.
A slap. A wail.
Mine.
"He's breathing! Born 2nd of August, 1975! A fine baby boy!"
---
1975.
My brain, or what was left of it, clung to that number like a lifeline.
I didn't know where I was yet—England, Scotland, or somewhere in between. But the accents were British, the voices kind, and I was alive.
No cheat codes. No glowing skill tree. But my mind… my mind *remembered*.
Languages. Logic. Emotions.
The grammar of French, the syntax of Python, the rhythm of Spanish verbs… all swirling inside a newborn brain, dormant but present.
---
My name was Nikhil Reddy.
Now, I was someone else. Someone small. Weak.
But the core of me remained. Buried under this infant shell was a soul that refused to be ordinary.
And if the world spoke in tongues… I'd answer in all of them—fluently, fiercely, and on my terms.