The bell rang with a shrill echo, marking the start of what seemed like just another school day for the boys of Class 6. But for Dilli, it was far from ordinary. His younger soul had been fused with his older self few nights before—an avalanche of memories, pains, regrets, and wisdom flooding into his tender frame.
He walked into the classroom like a tiny sage trapped in the body of a child. His gait was calm, his face was still, his eyes sharper than they had any right to be. The air of maturity was so strange on him that even his closest friends blinked in confusion.
"Rey… endhuku ra mokham ala pettav?" AV Dileep cracked, slapping the desk with mock seriousness. "Looks like you fought a war with Osama last night!"
Vishnu leaned closer, squinting at Dilli's expression. "No ra… this is not war face. This is… constipation face!" The gang burst out laughing.
PRM, ever the mischief-maker, joined in with his high-pitched giggle. "Maybe he's calculating maths in his head… integrals, derivatives… ha ha!"
At the mention of mathematics, Dilli's left eyebrow twitched. In his past life, numbers had tormented him like demons. He remembered those endless years—Intermediate MPC, Mechanical Engineering, the job interviews where linear algebra mocked him, and finally the cruel struggles with machine learning. But this time, he swore silently, he wouldn't run away.
Still, his friends kept poking.
"Orey Nagaraju! Look at him… he's not laughing. I think he became… philosopher," Somaraju teased, twirling his pen like a monk's staff.
Manikanta, the loudest of the group, added, "Philosopher? More like old man trapped in a kid's body. Rey GNS, shall we ask him lottery numbers? He might know future!"
The classroom erupted again. But Dilli just sat there with a calm, unreadable smile—the poker face of someone who had seen far more than anyone in that room could imagine. That silence was more powerful than any comeback, and it only made his friends laugh harder.
The Warm Welcome
The faculty entered. Mr. Prasad, their class teacher,English Faculty scanned the room and let his eyes rest on Dilli.
"Ah, Dilli! Back after your accident. We missed you," he said warmly.
Something inside him softened. For a moment, he wasn't the time-worn soul—just a boy grateful for kindness. He nodded gently, hiding the storm inside his heart.
"Back to studies now," he continued. "And remember, Dilli, I expect 90% from you again this time too!"
The class whistled and clapped mockingly.
"See ra, topper's pressure!" Vishnu joked. "He hates maths, but he still scores. Cheat codes in his brain."
Dilli chuckled softly. They had no idea that in his previous life, those numbers had been his biggest curse. Now, he had the rarest gift—time to rebuild his foundations.
The Games
By lunch break, the gang was in full swing. Desks cleared, pens sharpened, and the legendary pen game began. The classroom turned into a mini-cricket stadium.
"Four runs!" PRM shouted as his pen flipped and landed perfectly.
"Catch it! Catch it!" yelled Somaraju, leaping across two benches.
Outside, AV Dileep and Nagaraju had already started a game of pad cricket. Slaps, cheers, and fake appeals filled the air.
Dilli sat at the edge, watching them with a lump in his throat. Just yesterday—in another life—these games were long buried under deadlines, emails, and broken dreams. Now he was here again, at the very heart of boyhood, and it felt unreal.
Vishnu noticed him sitting alone. "Rey, why sitting like hero in sad climax scene? Come ra, bat once!"
The others joined in. "Yes ra! Don't act like grown-up uncles. This is your chance to hit sixer, not give lectures!"
Dilli forced a smile and picked up the pen. His hand trembled, not from fear, but from emotion. As he flicked it across the desk and the gang shouted in joy, he felt his chest tighten. He wanted to laugh with them, scream with them, but his heart was heavy with the truth: this was a blessing, a chance to relive what he had lost.
Somaraju patted him on the back. "Don't worry ra… we'll teach you to play properly."
The boys thought his silence was just moodiness. None of them knew the storm of gratitude and sorrow inside him.
The Silent Vow
That afternoon, Dilli sat by his window with his schoolbooks open. His fingers rested on the dreaded mathematics textbook.
"This time," he whispered, "I'll master you. No more running."
Outside, faint echoes of his friends' laughter still rang in his ears. For the first time in years—across two lifetimes—Dilli felt both the weight of the past and the sweetness of a new beginning.
His first day was halfway done. Childhood was back in his hands, and this time, he wouldn't waste it.