There's a moment in a man's life when everything collapses.
Not all at once.
Not like in movies.
No.
It happens slowly… piece by piece… until one day you look around and realize—
There's nothing left.
There's a moment in a man's life when everything collapses.
---
A figure stands on the edge of a tall building.
Old.
Middle-aged.
Black suit—torn, dirty, worn out like the man wearing it.
One hand holds a gun.
Empty.
Useless.
Like everything else.
---
Below, the city screams.
Horns.
Sirens.
Voices through megaphones.
"You can't run anywhere now! Surrender or we will shoot!"
---
He doesn't look down.
Doesn't look at them.
He looks up.
At the sky.
---
Today, the sky is beautiful.
Orange and pink and gold.
Sunset bleeding into night.
He takes a deep breath.
---
Everything collapses.
---
Not all at once.
Not like in movies.
No.
It happens slowly…
piece by piece…
until one day you look around and realize—
---
There's nothing left.
YEAR 2033
My name is Veda Raj Kumar.
Forty-four years old.
And I am already a dead man.
---
But I wasn't always like this.
I wasn't always this empty shell standing on a bridge with nothing in his pocket and less in his soul.
Once upon a time—
I was a soldier.
Once upon a time—
I had a wife.
Once upon a time—
I had a child who never got to take his first breath.
---
2013. AGE 17.
I joined the army with nothing but a dead father's name and a mother's tears.
My father?
Ran away with some woman when I was born.
Never saw his face.
Never heard his voice.
Never got an explanation.
Just... gone.
Like I never existed.
---
My mother raised me alone.
Worked two jobs.
Slept four hours.
Never complained.
Never once said "why me."
She just... kept moving.
Kept fighting.
Kept believing.
"God is watching, beta. Always watching."
I wanted to believe her.
I really did.
---
At 17, I left for the army.
Not because I was brave.
Not because I wanted to serve my country.
Not because I believed in anything.
Because my mother's hands were getting tired.
Because someone had to carry the weight.
I joined because it was the only way I could make money.
Simple as that.
---
I was never smart.
Books? Forget it.
School? Wasted time.
My head worked different—slow, heavy, like moving through water.
Teachers gave up on me.
Classmates laughed.
I learned to keep my mouth shut and my head down.
---
But my body?
That worked.
Strong hands.
Strong back.
Willing to bleed.
At 17, the army was the only door open.
No degree needed.
No brains required.
Just a body they could use.
Just a boy willing to die for money.
---
I didn't want to leave her.
Didn't want to go.
The thought of her alone in that empty house—
it ate me alive.
---
But staying meant watching her work until she dropped.
Staying meant being useless.
Staying meant she'd never stop killing herself for me.
---
So I left.
---
I felt pathetic.
Dumb.
Useless.
Like a son who couldn't do anything except offer his body like meat.
---
But sometimes—
sometimes meat is all you have.
---
She cried when I told her.
Held me so tight I couldn't breathe.
"Don't go, son. We'll manage. We always manage."
---
I lied.
Said I'd be fine.
Said it's just a few years.
Said I'd come back rich.
---
We both knew I was lying.
But she let me go anyway.
Because that's what mothers do.
They let their children leave, even when it kills them inside.
---
I walked out the door.
Didn't look back.
If I looked back, I'd never leave.
---
That was 2013.
I was 17.
And my life as a soldier began.