A heavy silence hung over the dimly lit room, broken only by the slow creak of a ceiling fan slicing through the still air. The scent of stale perfume and something acrid lingered, clashing with the crisp morning air that seeped through the half-open window.
Outside, the city of Mumbai was still asleep, its neon lights flickering like distant stars against the retreating darkness of the night.
A young man was laid onto his bed, his body still, like a dead body. A glass bottle labeled 'Poison' lay near his limp hand. Its uncapped mouth spilling a few scattered drops onto the floor.
The clock on the wall stuck fice. Suddenly, the once-lifeless body gasped.
His lungs burned as they filled with air, the taste of bile and something bitter coating his tongue. His body convulsed, muscles stiff and unyielding, as if he had just been yanked back from the abyss. His fingers twitched against the cold wooden floor, his mind drowning in a whirlpool of confusion. He was alive.
Again.
The realization came swiftly, cutting through the fog in his mind. This wasn't the first time. He had been through this before. Two times before, to be exact. The initial shock had long since faded. Now, his first instinct was to assess the situation.
'But how many times do I have to go through this? Why can't I die once and for all?' he pondered, staring at the ceiling fan.
He sat up slowly, pressing a hand against his aching stomach, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit room. His gaze landed on the overturned chair, the empty glass vial, and the wrinkled note on the desk. A suicide.
He tried to stand up, his legs wobbling, but determined to see the note left by the original owner of this body. Unsteadily, he walked towards the table, grabbing the suicide note to get information about his situation.
Rajveer.
The name was on the note, but right now it meant nothing to him. Similar to his past transmigrations, he had no memories to rely on, only feelings and instincts. That meant he needed to investigate—find out who Rajveer was, what kind of life he had lived, and why he had chosen to end it.
Ignoring the pain still lingering in his body, he forced himself to ignore the letter for the time being. First, he needed to confirm when and where he was. He glanced around, spotting a newspaper on the floor. He picked it up, eyes scanning the title and the date: The Times Of India, 5 Jan,1998.
His brows furrowed. A new planet, a new timeline, a new life.
He scanned through the newspaper, nearby books, magazines and any other source he could find to get an understanding of his new home.
After a half an hour of scanning through, he came to some conclusions; he is on a planet called Earth, inhabited only by humans and there is no magic or superpower whatsoever on this planet. He is currently living in a city called Mumbai, in the state of Maharashtra which is in India.
'Alright… basic geography, check. Politics, check. Current level of development, check. Now, it's finally time to dive into some personal stuff. It's good that there are many things present here similar to my previous worlds but no magic or superpower is definitely a bummer. And the level of scientific development is so behind compared to my previous world. Seriously, what the hell is with such a low average lifespan? 70 years? I hope that much time is enough to fulfil whatever the wishes were of the original soul. Since there is no interstellar travelling, there won't be any wish related to travelling the universe or any kind of impossible dream, which takes a whole lifetime to achieve it. Now, there must be something from where I can get a basic understanding about myself.'
Turning back to the desk, he searched through the drawers, finding a leather-bound diary. He flipped through the pages, scanning hurriedly scribbled notes, schedule plans, and desperate thoughts. This was his key to understanding Rajveer.
"Yes!" he exclaimed in a low voice, muttering to himself, "At least there is a diary, otherwise I would have been forced to interact with the neighbours, just to know about myself. That would be very awkward."
He flipped through the diary and the last note left behind, reading everything within a half an hour. He sighed heavily after finishing it. "Man, again a tragic life. No parents and a sister who is living in Delhi with some relatives. Well, his father has left behind a good sum of money, three 1 BHK apartments and a massive bookstore for his kids. So money will not be my immediate problem. But bullying. The last two years of his life have been living hell. Constant bullying in college because of good looks and grades. Getting attention not just from girls but from jealous boys too. Ahh… why am I always getting a tragic backstory?" he complained, just to vent his frustration.
He turned towards a full body mirror attached to the cupboard. The image reflected back was of a man just entering his twenties, a good looking but haggard face with shiny black hair on his scalp. He has a lean figure with a height of 6'1.
"So you want to become a film star and the wealthiest person in the country. Travel the country and outside of India. And if that's not all, you also want to make the world a better place for your sister to give her a happy life. Quite a lofty and idealistic wish you've got there." he said with some humour in his voice. He took a few moments to think before voicing his thoughts aloud, looking directly in the eyes of the person in the mirror, "Fine then. I promise you, I will make your wish come true. You can rest in peace now."
He felt his body becoming lighter, like some heavy weights on the shoulders have been lifted off. He immediately felt like something had been discovered inside his soul. He closed his eyes to see.
"Well..well..well, I never thought that one of my abilities and some traits would also get here. But…it's quite clear that there are some restrictions placed on it because of the lack of magic or superpower in this world. And I also have to endure pain while transforming! That's new." he sighed at the end imagining the pain he had to go through for every transformation.
Immediately he tried using his powers. Since he change his bone structure with his shapeshifting ability, so that's what he did.
The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the faint sound of traffic in the distance. Rajveer stood shirtless in front of the full-length mirror, his reflection a canvas about to be rewritten. His face was calm, but his eyes blazed with determination.
He exhaled slowly. "It's time," he whispered. He took a clean cloth and put it in his mouth to dampen the scream.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward, diving deep into that strange corner of his soul where the power lay dormant. The ability that had followed him across worlds — his shapeshifting.
Then it began.
His spine arched as a searing heat crawled across his bones. Pain erupted like a firestorm inside his body. His jaw cracked audibly as the structure started to realign, shifting from its ordinary frame into something chiseled and sculpted. Cheekbones sharpened. The bridge of his nose narrowed. His brow lowered into a symmetrical curve. Every joint that moved did so with resistance, like rusted metal grinding against itself.
He gritted his teeth, but a scream still escaped.
His torso began to shift. Muscles stretched, fibers thickened, and bones cracked into new alignments. His chest broadened. His abs rippled into perfectly carved slabs. His shoulders widened just enough to form the textbook "V" shape that camera lenses adored.
Sweat soaked his body as he fell to one knee, panting like a man who had just fought death itself. His fingers dug into the wooden floor, leaving small grooves.
Still, he pushed through.
His arms flexed and adjusted, veins rising like rivers beneath golden-fair skin. Even his hands changed—becoming long, elegant, and proportioned to match his new physique. Lastly, his height inched upward, his spine stretching and popping as it adjusted. Six feet one turned into a statuesque six feet two.
It felt like dying. And yet, when the pain began to subside, and the last of the shudders left his body, he stood up shakily and looked at the mirror.
And there he was.
The man staring back at him looked like he had been sculpted by divine hands—symmetrical, striking, and unforgettable. Fair skin with a natural glow, a sharp and strong jawline, high cheekbones, full lips, and obsidian hair that curled just slightly above his forehead. His body was flawless, a model's dream—Greek god carved into flesh.
Rajveer wiped the sweat from his brow and chuckled through gritted teeth. "Now that's going to get attention. And I hope it's a good one."
Even his voice has changed. It became a combination of manliness and melodious.
He touched his face gently, amazed by the smooth edges, the perfect contours.
"But damn," he hissed, still feeling the aftershocks of pain ripple through his muscles, "I hope I don't have to do that too often."
And yet, despite the agony, the thrill of possibility coursed through him. The game had changed.
He was ready to take the spotlight.