Bhagya tried to end himself again by falling from height.
He didn't cry. No desperation, no drama—just a cold, resigned look as he checked time it was 2 AM and then he stepped off the edge. The silence that followed wasn't peaceful. It was deafening, like the world had paused for a moment to let him fall. But then—
Darkness.
He woke up again, in his room. Bed sheets folded neatly. No blood. No injuries. No sign he had ever left.
The clock read 3:02 AM
He remembered jumping at 2.
His breath caught in his throat. Again?
The fear wasn't from the fall or the pain. It was from the fact that he wasn't supposed to be alive. He'd made sure of that. Again and again. Sometimes it was the rooftop. Sometimes the lake. Sometimes something quieter. But always, without fail, he woke up in his room—alone, untouched, like time had skipped forward, leaving only the terror behind.
He didn't even think trying to end himself in public.The last thing he wanted was to be seen. What if someone caught him disappearing? What if they saw him dead, and then… alive? He imagined the headlines. The research labs. The cold metal tables. Needles. Experiments.
He didn't want to be famous for being broken.
That day at the At university,Bhagya was quieter than usual.
Arvin noticed. Anaya did too.
"You look like you haven't slept," she said that morning, touching his shoulder gently.
Bhagya flinched at the contact.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
But he wasn't. His eyes were distant, his body slower, like something inside him was dragging him down—day by day. Even sunlight seemed to sting him now.
When classes ended, he and Arvin walked their usual path home. The streets were loud with honking and heat, but Bhagya wasn't listening. His eyes caught something strange across the road.
A banner above a dusty shop read in bold red:
"100% Future Sight — Spot On!"
Bhagya stopped.
Arvin followed his gaze and scoffed. "One of those scammy godmen types. Watch—next they'll tell you your reincarnated dog is trying to contact you."
But Bhagya wasn't laughing. He stared at the shop, as if it had whispered to him.
That night, curiosity—or maybe something deeper—drew him back. Alone.
The shop looked even older up close, like it had been forgotten by time. Windchimes clinked softly though there was no wind. He stepped in.
Incense smoke curled around shelves stacked with crystals, skulls, and astrological charts. Behind the counter sat a woman in a faded red shawl. Her face was lined but sharp, like she saw too much of the world. Probably late forties, maybe early fifties. Her eyes locked onto Bhagya the moment he entered.
"You've arrived," she said without introduction. "I've been waiting."
Bhagya blinked. "You know me?"
She smiled, not kindly. "You, who have reached your destination…Thou shan't be alive. Neither shalt thou exist… then why art thou still here?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I see no star that gazes upon you, young man."
Her words felt like knives. Bhagya's hands clenched.
"Then why?" he snapped, his voice cracking. "Why am I still alive? You say I shouldn't exist—then why the hell am I waking up every day in the same hellhole!?"
The old woman didn't flinch. Her reply was calm, almost pitying.
"Ask the one who disturbs your sleep," she said softly. "The one you visit daily. The one in the mirror."
Bhagya stared, trembling. "What…?"
But she had already turned away, lighting incense, as if the conversation had ended.
Later that night, Bhagya lay in bed staring at the ceiling, unwilling to sleep but too drained to resist it.
The dreams came fast.
He stood in front of the mirror again. The same cracked glass. The same dark reflection. But this time, the reflection moved first.
It stepped out of the mirror like walking through water. Same face. Same eyes. Same voice. But something was wrong. This one smirked.
"You're late, fucker," the reflection said.
And Bhagya—exhausted, broken, no longer afraid, and deeply tired of waking up in a world that wouldn't let him go—finally replied:
"I know."