Mumbai, 2025
The rooftop's edge was cold beneath Amit Shukla's bare feet. Three stories below, the chawl's courtyard buzzed with its usual symphony of chaos—children shrieking, pressure cookers whistling, the occasional curse hurled between neighbors. But up here, there was only the wind and the weight of the half-empty bottle in his hand.
One step. That's all it'll take.
He took another swig, the cheap liquor burning its way down his throat. Ninety-four lakhs in debt. An eviction notice crumpled in his pocket. A wife who'd left him, a daughter who barely knew his face. And the loan sharks—their threats still fresh in his ears.
"Two days, Shukla. Pay up, or we visit your ex-wife and that pretty little girl of yours."
Amit's grip tightened around the bottle's neck. Why did I ever think I could win? Gambling had started as an escape, became an addiction, and now—it was his noose. The house always won. And he? He had lost everything.
He shuffled forward, his toes curling over the concrete ledge. The ground below swayed—or maybe that was just the alcohol in his veins.
"You'll probably just break your spine."
The voice came from behind him—soft, almost amused. Amit whirled, his balance betraying him. A girl stood there, silhouetted against the flickering terrace light. She couldn't have been older than sixteen, dressed in an oversized hoodie, one sleeve torn at the seam. Her dark eyes glinted with something unreadable.
And in her hand—
"Gun?" he breathed.
"Yes." Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Amit's pulse pounded in his throat. Who the hell is she? I've lived in this chawl for ten years—
"And you never once looked up." She stepped closer, the gun steady in her grip. "Do you want to die, Amit Shukla?"
The question should have been easy. He'd been ready to jump seconds ago. But now, with death staring back at him from the barrel of a pistol, his body betrayed him. His knees shook.
"I… I don't know."
The girl sighed, as if disappointed. "Pathetic. You were ready to leap into the unknown, but a gun frightens you?" She raised the weapon, her finger resting lightly on the trigger. "Let me help."
"Wait—!"
Amit stumbled back, his heel catching on cracked concrete. The world tilted. The bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered. And then he was on his back, staring up at the muzzle hovering inches from his forehead.
His daughter's face flashed in his mind—her laughter, the way she'd clung to him before the divorce. I never even said goodbye…
The girl's voice cut through the memory. "Live a good life."
"What—?"
BANG.
The world blinked out—like someone had flipped a switch.
The Past
Darkness.
Then—sunlight.
Amit gasped, bolting upright. His hands flew to his chest, expecting blood, pain, the cold grip of death. But there was only sweat-dampened cotton and the familiar hum of a ceiling fan.
"Amit! Get up, beta! You'll miss your college entrance prep!"
His mother's voice.
No. No, that's impossible. She'd died five years ago. Cancer. He'd sold their ancestral land to pay the hospital bills.
But the smell of ghee and toasted parathas wafted under the door. The calendar on the wall screamed 2010. And when he stumbled to the mirror, the face staring back was young—too young.
Seventeen.
His knees gave out. The laughter that tore from his throat was half-hysterical.
He'd regressed.
Fifteen years. Back to the cusp of every mistake he'd ever made.
The gambling. The failed job. The divorce.
A fist pounded on his door. "Amit! Are you listening? You can't waste this chance!"
His mother's words—the same ones she'd shouted the day he'd skipped his first college exam. The day his downward spiral began.
Amit pressed his forehead to the cool floor, tears soaking into the cracks.
This time… I'll do it right.