In a dark room, a boy sits, surrounded by shadowy figures. Their faces are blurred, yet eerily familiar.
"Such wasted potential," a voice murmurs from the crowd.
"You're a failure. You'll never accomplish anything in life."
"I trusted you… and this is what you've become?"
The words cut deep, echoing through the emptiness, growing louder with each passing second. No matter how much he tries to move, to speak, he remains frozen—trapped beneath the weight of their judgment.
He clenches his fists, his voice trembling. "Stop… please."
But the voices ignore him.
"You're a disappointment."
"You had so much potential, and you threw it all away."
"No one will ever understand you if you keep failing."
He grips his head, trying to shut them out, but their words crash over him like waves—endless, merciless, inescapable.
Then, through the noise, he whispers, "I know… I'm not doing it right. But none of you understand me."
For a moment, the room falls silent. The figures pause, their blurred faces unreadable.
Then, the voices return—louder, sharper, relentless.
His back remains turned, his face hidden in the shadows, as if he himself is unsure of who he is anymore.
He can't take it anymore. With a sudden burst of desperation, he pushes himself up and runs—straight through the crowd.
Hands reach out, grasping at him, trying to pull him back. The voices rise into a chaotic roar, but he doesn't stop. He won't stop.
Then—the ground vanishes beneath him.
He's falling. Deeper. Faster.
At the end of the path, he sees a figure—his grandfather. Standing firm, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"You have to keep your focus," the old man says, his voice unwavering.
He tries to run towards him, desperate to hold on to something real. But just as he reaches out—he falls into the endless void.
As the darkness swallows him, a voice echoes through the void:
"I may not be the chosen one… but I will be chosen by everyone, no matter the circumstances."
The words linger in his mind as he tumbles through the abyss.
"Am I… not the one?"
The question barely escapes his lips before—his eyes snap open.
His heart pounds. His breath is ragged. Cold sweat clings to his skin.
For a moment, he just stares at the ceiling, struggling to remember where he is. The echoes of the voices still ring in his ears, but they're fading—just like the dream.
Or was it really a dream?
A voice breaks through the haze.
"It's 10 AM already!"
His mother's voice snaps him back to reality. He blinks, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream.
"Ahh, sorry. I was up late studying," he mutters, rubbing his eyes.
She sighs. "You'll never get better at this rate."
He chuckles, forcing a smile. But inside—something cracks.
Still, he doesn't let it show. He never does.
Dragging himself out of bed, he steps into the dining room. His father is there, sitting on his bed—because the dining room is also his bedroom now. Old 90s songs play softly from his phone.
A smirk tugs at the boy's lips. Time to lighten the mood.
"You do nothing all day," he teases playfully, plopping down beside him.
His father chuckles, unfazed.
"Did you like yesterday's match?" he asks, trying to sound casual.
His father's eyes light up as he starts talking about the game, his voice animated. For a moment, things almost feel normal. Almost.
Then, after brushing and getting ready, he skips breakfast.
His grandmother shakes her head. "You never eat breakfast, do you?"
He shrugs. "Not hungry."
His mother walks him to the end of the street, stopping before he takes off on his cycle.
"It's the first day of tenth standard," she reminds him. "Don't do anything crazy."
He nods but asks, "Did you pay this month's loan installment? It was 3,000 rupees, right?"
She sighs. "Oh, that. Also, I'll get your school fees cleared tomorrow."
He doesn't say anything and just starts pedaling.
His route is familiar. To his right, the Charial Canal runs parallel to the road until he reaches Jenny Sarani. From there, he turns onto DH Road.
Traffic. Again.
Weaving through the vehicles, he dribbles past the obstacles like a footballer dodging defenders, finally reaching his school at 11:05 AM.
The prayer is about to begin. The school gates close at 11:15, so he made it just in time.
The guard gestures hurriedly. "Get in fast!"
He rushes through the empty road leading to the school, the last one to arrive. Crossing the field, he heads towards the new building, where Class 10A is.
As he reaches, the prayer bell rings, and he stops outside the class, waiting for it to end.
When he steps in, the teacher is taking attendance.
"Roll number 8?"
"Present," he calls out from outside.
The class teacher, the same one from Class 8, looks at him and sighs. "Look, another failure like the rest of you has arrived."
He steps inside, unfazed.
The teacher folds his arms. "Why are you this late? May I know?"
He shrugs.
"Do you study, or are you still the same as in Class 8? Not studying, but getting just enough marks?"
He says nothing.
He then sits beside his friend, Tonmoy, who is eight months older than him. Despite that, he has always treated Tonmoy like a little brother.
Behind him sits his best friend, Rudraneel Ghosh.
Tonmoy leans over. "How are you?"
He goes through the class, but he can still hear those judgments being made.
His eyes shift to his crush. He knows he'll never get her, but who cares?
Tiffin break arrives, but trouble follows. Students from Section C storm in, causing chaos. Among them, two people he once considered friends. Now? Strangers.
He steps in to stop the nonsense, but he gets caught in the mess instead.
"Apologize," a teacher demands.
He stands firm. "Why should I plead for forgiveness when I've done nothing wrong?"
Another teacher shakes their head. "You're so promising… but you never deliver."
A smirk plays on his lips. "If I were to deliver, I'd have never been here in the first place."
Silence. A few teachers shift uncomfortably. Some shake their heads in disappointment.
"Enough with the clever words. Go back to your class. And stay out of trouble."
He nods, turns around, and walks away. The murmurs behind him fade as he steps into the hallway.
Same story. Different day.
As he steps out of the office, a sinking feeling creeps in. His parents have been called. Again.
Tonmoy and Ghosh catch up with him in the corridor, concern written all over their faces.
"What are you doing, man?" Tonmoy mutters.
"You keep getting into this mess," Ghosh adds, shaking his head.
He exhales, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Leave it. I'm in the right here. No need to worry."
They exchange glances but say nothing more.
Outside, the afternoon sun casts long shadows as he walks past the same group that had harassed a student earlier. Their laughter dies as they notice him.
"Look who's acting tough now," one sneers.
Another chuckles. "Still playing hero?"
He doesn't even glance their way. Just keeps walking. Some fights aren't worth it.
He slows down near the field, resting one foot on the ground as his cycle sways slightly beneath him. His friends are deep in the game, their laughter and shouts blending with the rustling leaves.
For a few moments, he just watches, gripping the handlebar loosely. The ball flies across the field, familiar faces darting after it. Someone notices him and waves.
He lifts a hand in return, a small wave—nothing more.
Then, without a word, he presses down on the pedal and rides away, the sound of the game fading behind him.
The school day had been exhausting, but the real storm awaited him at home. As soon as he stepped inside, his mother's voice cut through the silence.
"What have you done now?" she shouted.
He barely glanced at her. "Nothing."
"Nothing? I take out loans every month just to pay your school fees, and you do this?" Her voice wavered, the threat of an emotional breakdown evident. "Do you even understand what I go through for you?"
He exhaled sharply. "Who told you to do all of this? Do you even listen to me properly?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He stormed into his room, pulling out his old Liaomi 6 phone. He opened HT app, scrolling through his messages until he found the one person who truly understood him—Haruna.
Him: "Hey, how's your day going? High school must be tough."
Her: "You're telling me this since the first day we met. I already said, if possible, I will. If not, we can still meet each other."
They had been talking for over a year now. He respected her immensely. More than anyone. He wanted to go to Japan, to leave this corrupt country at any cost. Maybe they could even go to the same university.
Him: "It's time for me to study, Haruna-san. I'll talk later. And if you need anything, just let me know."
Just as he put his phone down, his mother's voice rang out again.
"You're always on that phone!"
Something inside him cracked. "Do you think I know everything? No, I don't. That's why I want to learn!"
His anger spilled over before he could stop it. He clenched his fists, breathing heavily. He hadn't wanted to lash out, but it happened anyway.
Needing air, he climbed to the rooftop, the city stretching before him under the flickering streetlights. The metro rumbled by on DH Road below. He called his little sister, Aki.
"You're the only one who respects me this much, loves me this much," she said softly. "But you never open up."
He didn't reply. He stared at the edge of the rooftop, the height dizzying. His body swayed forward. His mind screamed to jump—to escape it all.
But he was a coward.
He wanted to live, even if people didn't want him to.
Instead, he went back inside and buried himself in his books—astrophysics. Not even part of his syllabus, but something he desperately wanted to understand.
His mother sighed. "Again? You started this nonsense again?"
"Yes, because I don't know everything. And I want to know everything."
Time slipped by. Before he knew it, it was 3 AM. His team, Barcelona SC, had won. But even the victory couldn't shake the weight pressing on him. He didn't want to sleep. Instead, he wrote. Poured his thoughts into his story.
Only when dizziness claimed him did he let go. His eyelids drooped.
"If only… I could be understood…"
Then—pain.
His head throbbed. His vision swam. Before him, an abyss stretched into eternity. He was falling, spiraling into darkness. And then, a voice—
"You can escape it. Yes, you can."
It wasn't a black hole, but something deeper. Something incomprehensible. The words echoed in his mind:
I am not the chosen one. But if someone were to choose… it would be me.
Light engulfed him. When he opened his eyes, he was inside a capsule—a radiant beam of energy pulsating around him. He reached out, and the shock sent a jolt through his body. But he stood firm.
A figure stood before him. A man in a blue futuristic jacket and black pants. His gaze steady.
"I'm here to pick you up."
Fear coiled in his chest. He looked around frantically. "Where am I?"
The man's expression remained unreadable. "Subhadip Seal, your highness. This is Zolito—the capital of the multiverse."
His breath hitched. His mind reeled.
His fiction… was becoming reality.