The mirror fogged slowly as steam drifted across the bathroom.
Dev Sharma wiped the glass with his palm and stared at his reflection.
A familiar face stared back.
Wheatish skin. Slightly rounded cheeks. A soft double chin beginning to form under his jaw.
And below that—His belly.
Dev exhaled.
"Yeah… that's definitely not a six-pack."
He poked the bulging stomach and sighed dramatically.
"Next year," he muttered to himself. "Next year for sure."
He had been saying that every December for the last five years.
Still, he didn't look bad. Just… comfortable. A typical Indian tech guy who had spent too many nights sitting in front of a laptop.
He dried his hair with a towel and stepped out of the bathroom.
The apartment was quiet and spacious, painted in light, warm colors that reflected the soft morning sun. A large smart TV hung on the wall across the living room, and beyond it, a wide balcony opened toward the tree-covered streets of Jayanagar.
From the balcony came the gentle rustle of newspaper pages.
His father sat there in a plastic chair, long legs stretched forward, sipping tea while reading the morning headlines.
Tall and thin even in his late fifties, his father's skin had taken on a reddish tone after decades of working under the sun and stress. Years of government service had carved quiet lines across his face.
Dev walked over and bent down.
"Good morning, father."
He touched his father's feet.
His father lowered the newspaper slightly and nodded with a faint smile.
"Hmm. Up early today."
Before Dev could answer, the faint scent of incense drifted from the hallway.
His mother stepped out of the small puja room.
She wore a red saree with blue embroidery, the fabric draped neatly around her small frame. Though time had touched her face, there was still a natural beauty to her gentle features.
In one hand she held a small diya.
In the other—prasad.
Dev immediately bent again.
"Mother."
She touched his head softly before placing the prasad into his palm.
"May God keep you happy," she said.
Dev smiled.
"I already am."
And for the first time in a long while… he meant it.
An hour later, Dev stepped out of the apartment building.
The cool December air brushed against his face.
Bangalore winters were never harsh, but the mornings carried a pleasant chill.
He zipped up his jacket and walked toward the parking area.
There it stood.
His bike.
A custom café racer, black as midnight with polished metallic rims that caught the morning light. Dev ran a hand across the fuel tank.
"You and me," he said softly.
Helmet on. Gloves tightened. The engine roared to life. And moments later, he rode into the streets of Bangalore.
Jayanagar in the morning looked like a garden. Tall trees lined both sides of the road, their branches heavy with flowers. Yellow blossoms from one tree. Crimson petals from another. White flowers scattered across the pavement like snow.
Dev slowed slightly as he rode through the peaceful streets. For a city that held millions of people, Bangalore still found a way to feel alive and beautiful.
Ten minutes later, he parked outside his regular coffee shop.
The warm smell of roasted beans greeted him as he stepped inside.
"Morning, Dev sir," the barista said with a grin.
"The usual?"
Dev nodded.
"Black coffee. No sugar."
"And a sandwich."
He took a seat near the window and opened his laptop.
The dashboard of his app appeared instantly.
TrendOracle.
His creation.
Months ago he had quit his job as a software developer and risked everything building it alone.
An AI-driven stock prediction platform.
At first, nobody believed in it.
But now…
Dev refreshed the analytics.
Subscribers: 8,124
Monthly revenue: ₹7,82,000
A smile slowly spread across his face.
Just a year ago he had been earning one lakh a month working for someone else.
Now he earned nearly eight times that. On his own. He leaned back in his chair.
"This is just the beginning," he whispered.
Outside the window, the sky darkened slightly.
A few drops of rain began tapping against the glass.
Strange.
Rain in December?
Dev didn't think much of it.
He took a bite of his sandwich.
Warm toasted bread.
Fresh cucumber and onion.
A light sauce that balanced the crisp texture perfectly.
He followed it with a sip of coffee.
Strong.
Bitter.
Perfect.
Then his eyes wandered toward the street outside.
And froze.
Across the road stood a sleek black Audi.
The kind of car that cost nearly a crore.
The passenger door opened.
A woman stepped out.
Dev's fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
Riya.
His girlfriend.
The woman he had been planning to marry.
She wasn't alone.
A tall man stepped out of the driver's seat. Broad shoulders. Gold chain around his neck.
Behind him stood an even larger man.
A bodyguard.
Dev felt something twist inside his chest.
He pushed his chair back and walked outside.
"Riya."
She turned.
For a brief second, shock flashed across her face.
"Dev…"
The man beside her frowned.
"You know him?"
Dev stepped closer.
"What is this?"
Riya avoided his eyes.
"Dev… it's not what you think."
The man laughed softly.
"Relax, bro."
Dev ignored him.
"You said you were busy today."
"I was—"
"Busy with him?"
The rich man's smile disappeared.
"Careful how you talk."
Dev stepped forward.
"Stay out of this."
The next moment happened too fast.
A massive hand grabbed Dev's collar.
The bodyguard.
A punch exploded across his face.
Dev stumbled back as blood filled his mouth.
Riya said nothing.
She didn't even try to stop it.
Dev wiped his lips slowly.
For the first time, he truly understood.
He looked at the Audi.
At the gold chain.
At the man standing confidently beside her.
And then he looked at himself.
His bike stood across the road.
For the first time that morning…
It didn't feel like freedom.
It felt small.
Dev turned without another word.
He got on his bike and started the engine.
The rain had grown heavier.
Cold drops struck his jacket as he rode into the traffic.
His vision blurred.
Not from rain.
From everything breaking inside him.
Minutes later he reached a bridge crossing the dark river below.
The road was slick.
His hands trembled slightly on the handlebars.
Just one mistake.
One small slip.
The tires lost grip.
The bike skidded.
Metal scraped violently across the guardrail.
And then—
Dev flew over the edge.
The freezing river rushed up to meet him.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
Darkness swallowed him before he could even scream.
Pain.
A dull, persistent pressure against his chest pulled Dev slowly out of darkness.
His body felt stiff. Heavy.
Unfamiliar.
He groaned softly and tried to move.
Something hard dug into his ribs.
His fingers instinctively reached for it.
Cold metal.
Dev pulled slightly at the object hanging around his neck.
A silver locket, shaped like a small shield, slid out from beneath the rough cloth of his shirt. Its surface was engraved with an intricate crest — elegant lines forming a symbol that felt strangely important.
The edges of the locket had been pressing painfully against his chest.
That was what woke him.
Dev blinked slowly.
The air smelled… different.
Dry wood. Old fabric. Faint traces of oil.
Not the smell of his apartment.
Not Bangalore.
His eyes opened fully.
The ceiling above him was made of aged wooden planks, darkened by time.
He frowned.
This isn't…
He pushed himself up.
The bed beneath him creaked softly.
It wasn't a mattress.
It was a thin wooden frame with a rough cushion, barely comfortable enough for sleeping.
Dev looked around.
The room was small. Cramped.
Two beds stood against one wall — bunk beds, one above the other.
Dev was on the lower bed.
Someone was sleeping above him, their quiet breathing rising and falling steadily.
The room was dim.
No electric lights.
Instead, on a small wooden table near the wall sat an oil lamp, its glass slightly clouded with soot.
Beside it were a few old books stacked unevenly.
Next to the bed stood a small wooden cupboard, built directly into the wall. Its doors were slightly open, revealing several sets of worn clothes folded inside.
Dev stared at them.
They looked… old.
Cheap.
Definitely not his.
He slowly looked down at himself.
His clothing felt wrong.
A loose half-pant, ending just around his knees, exposed thin legs that didn't belong to the body he remembered.
His shirt — if it could even be called that — was a tattered piece of cloth meant for sleeping. It was comfortable enough but clearly old and worn.
Dev flexed his fingers.
His hands looked… smaller.
Thinner.
His chest tightened.
Something is wrong.
Very wrong.
He swung his legs off the bed.
The wooden floor felt cold beneath his feet.
Every movement felt strange, like his body didn't quite belong to him.
Across the room, just above the small table, a window stood slightly open.
Soft morning light streamed through the gap.
Golden rays slipped into the dim room, carrying tiny floating dust particles that danced slowly in the air.
Outside, faint sounds of morning activity drifted in.
The day had just begun.
Near the window, mounted on the wall, hung an old clock.
A small pendulum swung gently beneath it.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each second echoed quietly through the silent room.
Dev stared at it for a moment, trying to steady his breathing.
Then his eyes shifted.
There was something else on the wall.
A mirror.
Small. Slightly cracked at one corner.
He walked toward it slowly.
The wooden floor creaked under his steps.
His heart was beating faster now.
The sunlight streaming through the window shifted slightly, illuminating the mirror.
Dev stepped in front of it.
For a brief moment, the floating dust particles glowed in the beam of light before settling again.
Then he looked up.
And saw the reflection.
His breath stopped.
The face staring back at him wasn't his.
It was a boy.
Young.
No more than fourteen… maybe fifteen.
Sharp youthful features. Dark messy hair. Clear brown eyes filled with shock.
Dev's mind went completely blank.
He took two steps back.
His voice came out hoarse.
"What the fuck…"
His eyes darted back to the mirror.
The boy in the reflection did the same.
His heart slammed against his chest.
"Who the fuck… am I?"