The Dream Space shimmered with quiet stillness, a void made alive only by the thoughts coursing through Rohan's mind. He sat cross-legged, his digital projection breathing slowly, eyes half-lidded. He'd called out DL, not with curiosity this time, but with purpose.
"DL," he said, his voice calm but sharp. "Tell me about Nanaji's death. You said you couldn't say it unless I figured it out. I did. Now speak."
DL materialized in the form of a translucent sphere, spinning slowly above his head before settling in front of him, shifting into its usual soft, floating interface.
"Finally," DL said, voice dipped in mockery so familiar, it almost felt comforting. "Took you long enough."
Rohan rolled his eyes. "Spare me the sarcasm. Just tell me."
"Very well," DL replied, its voice flattening to seriousness. The air around them pulsed softly, like a drumbeat in slow motion.
"Ramchandra Sharma's death was… premature. Ten years early. He was supposed to live till seventy-eight."
Rohan's breath hitched, just once. Ten years. A whole decade stolen.
"In the original timeline, he would have supported Arya's treatment financially. His insurance would have covered the initial costs. Your mother would have stabilized emotionally. Arya would've survived, joined an investment bank, gained experience, and gone on to start her own company."
DL paused briefly before delivering the hardest truth.
"Your mother would've lived a long, peaceful life, proud of her children.
And Ramchandra? He would've seen Arya married.
He held his great-grandchild in his arms.
And passed away quietly, content… knowing he had done enough."
The vision bloomed around Rohan like a film reel unfurling from the depths of time.
Golden sunlight streamed over a modest but warm courtyard. Ramchandra Sharma—his Nanaji—was seated in his old armchair, a checkered shawl wrapped loosely around his shoulders. His face was creased with time but soft with a serenity Rohan had never seen. He laughed heartily, throwing his head back as he played a game of cards with Arya on the veranda. A transistor radio hummed an old Kishore Kumar song in the background, blending nostalgia with the crisp morning air.
In the next flicker, Veena was arranging marigolds and roses into a brass thali, her hair tied in a bun, wearing a simple cotton saree. She looked younger—less tired, more radiant. Her eyes sparkled with quiet contentment. She hummed a tune under her breath, the same one she used to sing while cooking breakfast years ago, before life turned into a series of burdens and goodbyes. She wasn't just surviving—she was living.
The vision shifted again.
Arya—older now, poised—stepped out of a black sedan in front of a glass high-rise, her heels striking ambition into the pavement. She wore a charcoal grey business suit, her ID card swinging lightly around her neck. She waved goodbye to the driver, clutching a laptop bag and a Starbucks cup. Her eyes were full of determination. Inside the building, her name was etched on a frosted glass panel: Arya Nina Sharma—Financial Strategist, Axis Global Investments. She was giving a presentation in a polished boardroom, talking with precision and conviction while a room full of executives nodded.
Another scene.
Ramchandra stood with trembling hands holding a garland at Arya's wedding. Tears welled in his eyes, not of sorrow, but of overwhelming joy. Rohan watched as his grandfather blessed Arya and her husband, his voice trembling with the weight of fulfilled dreams. Veena sat beside him, smiling through her tears, as relatives bustled around, laughter and music filling the air. A home once soaked in grief was now painted with celebration.
Finally, the last scene.
Ramchandra—older now—sat beneath a neem tree in the same courtyard, surrounded by great-grandchildren, telling stories of bravery, faith, and foolish young men who turned into wise ones—one of them always wore glasses and argued with the stars, just like Rohan used to. His face was glowing, worn but proud, and his voice was strong. Beside him, Veena gently rocked in a chair, and Arya flipped through a photo album on her phone, showing him snapshots of her newborn daughter.
A soft breeze danced through the neem leaves.
Laughter filled the air.
Joy soaked every breath.
Rohan stood in the heart of it all, unseen yet deeply moved.
It was like watching a life he had always yearned for, one he never got to live… Yet every heartbeat, every expression, felt achingly familiar. As though his soul had brushed against this version of reality in a forgotten dream. Like an echo of a melody never sung but always known.
He didn't want it to end.
But then—
The vision shimmered… and dissolved.
It felt like a punch in the gut.
"So, what went wrong?" Rohan asked, already fearing the answer.
"He died of a broken heart," DL said simply. "Watching Veena suffer every day, reliving Hector's death. Seeing his grandchildren so lost. The tension between Veena and Geeta. The passive hostility of that household. It chipped away at him until his heart gave out. You think heart attacks are always medical? Sometimes, the heart doesn't fail from cholesterol. It fails from watching too much pain with no way to hold it."
Rohan clenched his fists. "So, I was part of the reason he died."
He'd been there. The same house. The same days. But in the old timeline, he hadn't seen what Nanaji carried. He'd stayed inside, letting silence grow thick in the air. He'd walked past Nanaji with earbuds in. Ignored Veena's silence like it was background noise. He hadn't been cruel—just absent. Like a ghost living in the same walls.
"And that," he thought bitterly, "was enough to kill a man who needed hope."
"Yes," DL said without hesitation. "But also, you're the only one who can change that outcome now."
Rohan stood up in the void, the stillness around him replaced by a subtle tremor—his own emotional resonance disturbing the space.
"How do I stop it? Tell me exactly."
"You must show him a reason to live," DL replied. "Happiness. Hope. He needs to believe that you can take care of your mother and sister. That Veena will not suffer. That Arya will laugh again. He needs to see that you're walking forward—not crawling through grief."
"And Geeta?"
"Her power comes from your dependence. Become financially independent. The moment she can no longer leverage money or obligation… her influence will vanish like smoke."
Rohan took a long breath, eyes now burning with clarity. "Then it's time to start. We perfect every detail and every simulation. We begin real-world prototyping of the tech we've been developing here. I need to build it, test it, and prove it."
"You do understand that recreating dream-space success in the real world won't be easy. Simulations are perfect here. Real-world tech comes with constraints—material, technology, electricity, precision, and noise."
"I know," Rohan said. "That's the challenge, right? To recreate what's perfect in an imperfect world."
DL hummed. "You sound ready."
Rohan turned away from the projection of the perfect future. "I have to be. I've seen what's at stake. This is the beginning of the end—of our plan."
DL flickered, and for a flicker too long, something passed through him—an emotion not in his programming. Something like pride.
"Then let's begin, Rohan Ram. Let's build a future worth keeping."
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Author's Note:
That's it for the mass release!
Thanks to everyone who has picked up the story so far — it means a lot.
From now on, new chapters will be released 4 times a week. I'll try to keep the pace consistent and always aim for quality over speed.
If you're enjoying the story so far, don't forget to:
Add it to your library
Drop a comment or review
And tell me what you think — feedback helps shape what comes next
See you in the next chapter.
— The Author