The day the sky cracked open, nobody noticed—except Aditya.
At 2:03 AM, while the city of Mumbai drowned in the hum of distant sirens, flickering streetlights, and monsoon whispers, Aditya Sharma sat hunched over his old wooden desk, sipping stale black coffee and decoding a string of gibberish from a forgotten manuscript.
Outside, rain tapped on the windowpane in a rhythmic urgency. Inside, the light above his desk pulsed once—faintly, like a heartbeat—and then again, brighter this time. A chill ran down his spine. His eyes, bloodshot from too many sleepless nights, fixated on a sentence that hadn't been there a second ago.
"You are not dreaming, Aditya. You are remembering."
He blinked. The text was gone.
The manuscript, brittle and yellowed, had been passed down from a missing professor, rumored to have gone mad trying to translate it. Written in a language older than Sanskrit and never before documented, it had been dismissed as a hoax. But Aditya had always known—there was something more. Something watching.
He looked down again. A new line had appeared.
"Say it aloud."
Without thinking, he obeyed.
"Avek tu solvi…"
The desk cracked. The lights exploded. Time warped.
Suddenly, he wasn't in his room anymore.
He stood at the edge of a mountain that pierced the clouds. Above him, stars twisted into unnatural shapes, and the moon bled silver tears. Below, an infinite chasm opened into darkness that pulsed—alive, sentient.
A voice thundered, not from around him but from within him.
"Welcome back, Aditya. The illusion ends now."
He fell to his knees, gasping, clutching his chest. Memories that weren't his flooded in—worlds collapsing, galaxies born from his breath, creatures kneeling in prayer… to him.
No. Not Aditya.
Ishvara. Creator. Destroyer. The Real God.
He screamed. The air shattered.
When he awoke, he was back in his room. The manuscript burned with blue fire, turning to ash before his eyes. His hands trembled as he grabbed a pen and scribbled across his wall:
"I am real god. I remember now."
Behind him, a shadow blinked into existence—tall, robed, faceless.
"Then you know what's coming," it whispered. "They remember you too."