At 3:00 a.m., the world outside was a blanket of absolute darkness. A profound, early-morning silence pressed against the room's thin walls. Inside a cramped space, on a small, worn bed, Aarav, a twenty-year-old man, slept. His face was contorted by a panicked expression, his body drenched in sweat.
"No!"
He jolted awake, his eyes snapping open, wide and glazed with a primal terror. "No, Ayushi! I won't let you die! I won't allow it to happen again!" He gasped, dragging a deep, shuddering breath into his lungs, fighting to wrestle his frantic mind and body under control. As he scanned his surroundings, a deeper, more chilling form of shock—an impossible realization—washed over him.
"What? Where am I? What is this place?"
He tried to lurch to his feet, but the memories slammed into him like a physical blow, and he collapsed back onto the cheap mattress. Desperately, he strained to recall the last incident. Every detail flashed in his mind: the flyover, the concrete edge, the horrifying weight of Ayushi's cold body in his arms. He had jumped.
Now, he was in his room. He should be nothing more than a stain on the pavement, dead, yet he was alive. The coarse, familiar sheets felt impossibly real against his skin.
"Where is Ayushi? What is happening to me?" he muttered, thoroughly confused. He ran a trembling hand over the wood grain of the bedside table—a table he hadn't touched in two years. "I've revived again? No, it's not possible!"
He slapped the side of his head, the sharp sting briefly clarifying his thoughts. "No, what am I thinking? How could I be here?" He sighed, his confusion rapidly giving way to a dreadful certainty. He stood and stared at the calendar. He was shocked again. He stepped closer, his finger tracing the date, unable to trust his own eyes. "Oh my god, what did I just see?"
It was August 1, 2025. "But how? How is this possible? It was 2027!"
In a rising panic, he began searching for his mobile phone. When he saw the date displayed on the small screen, he was truly stunned. The sheer realization made his eyes widen with a fierce, burning hope. "Then I have been transported to the past," he thought.
A throbbing pain shot through his head, and he shook it off.
"Forget it. I won't get any answers anyway," he resolved, his gaze hardening. "What's the point of thinking about how? All that matters is when."
He checked the time: 5:30 a.m.. "Oh no, time's up! I haven't even taken a bath yet!"
In a rush of focused energy, he ran to the bathroom.
The sun had finally breached the horizon in the east. Aarav, dressed in a black T-shirt and blue pants, was walking on the road. The air was noisy: a vibrant, loud reality of people—from old to young—rushing to their jobs, a reality he thought he had lost forever. Aarav was smiling foolishly, his focus not entirely on the road, as his thoughts were consumed by Ayushi.
"Thank you, God, for giving me a second chance," he said inwardly.
He then clenched his fist, the commitment solidifying in his heart. "I promise, Ayushi, I will never let any harm come to you," he vowed.
"So, I have been transported two years back," he mused. His gaze turned sharper, now filled not with grief, but with purpose.
"I, Aarav, will change my future through the power of love!"
With this thought, Aarav reached his college and stood before his classroom. A tense expression crossed his face. "Damn it, I'm late today! I'm doomed," he thought, not daring to enter. It was physics class, and everyone knew the physics teacher was very strict about time. "If the teacher sees me, I'll have to run 20 laps around the ground," he groaned inwardly.
Just as he was about to silently slip away, his gaze landed on a girl sitting in the front row, and he froze, captivated. An angel-like girl sat there. It was Ayushi. Seeing her alive, breathing, and two years younger, Aarav was hit by a wave of crushing emotion and profound relief. "What? She is so beautiful," he whispered, feeling his knees wobble.
"Yes, she is," a voice rumbled right beside him.
A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he heard the unmistakable sound of harsh laughter. Standing directly in front of him was a middle-aged man with an extremely angry expression.
"Sir," Aarav began, ready to explain his impossible situation.
"No explanations," the teacher snapped, cutting him off with a whip-crack voice. "First, you came late to the class; second, you didn't say sorry; and worst of all, you're standing in the hallway, blocking the light, daydreaming about my students! Are you even aware of the principle of minimum drag?"
"Get out!"