Chapter 1: The Break-even Point
The aroma of freshly made dal filled the cramped kitchen of a small Mumbai apartment. Rekha, her veil tucked at her waist, stirred the pot while glancing sideways at the frail figure of her son, Aarav, perched on a stool beside the counter. The glow from the stove flickered against his pale skin, his eyes tired yet curious as he scribbled down math problems in his notebook.
"Mom, why is x always unknown in my questions?" Aarav asked, biting his pencil.
Rekha, chopping coriander with quick, efficient strokes, smiled. "Because, son, life is all about finding that unknown. Once we find x, we stop that question and move to the next question."
Aarav nodded as if her answer made perfect sense.
Outside, the city roared in its usual chaos—honking autos, distant train whistles, rain hammering on tin roofs. Inside, their world was quiet, fragile, held together by love, duty, and sheer endurance.
And then, the front door banged open. A gust of wet wind swept in as Kabir entered.
His shirt was half-tucked, his tie loosened, his face unshaven. The stench of whiskey mixed with the scent of fresh rain. He shut the door behind him with unnecessary force, stumbling slightly, his tired eyes bloodshot.
Rekha stiffened but said nothing. Aarav, sensing the shift in the air, quickly put his pencil down. "Dad—"
"Not now, Aarav," Kabir muttered, rubbing his temples. He threw his leather bag onto the sofa, collapsing into a chair. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, looking at the untouched plates on the table. "Haven't you served yet, Rekha?"
Rekha wiped her hands and walked over. "I was waiting for you."
Kabir let out a dry laugh. "How thoughtful! My beloved wife starving and waiting for my epic return."
She ignored the sarcasm. "Go wash your hands. I'll bring the food."
But Kabir didn't move. His gaze darkened, flickering between his wife and son, a storm brewing inside him. "Why do we even pretend anymore, Rekha?" he said suddenly. His voice was low but bitter, laced with something dangerous.
Rekha didn't respond. Kabir gestured around the apartment—the peeling paint, the creaky fan, the mismatched furniture they'd bought second-hand.
"Look at this life, Rekha. Look at what we’ve become. A man who breaks his back at a job he hates, a woman who—" He paused, chuckling darkly. "—who probably regrets every choice she made."
Rekha placed a plate on the table. "Eat before you start your speech, Kabir. You’re not a politician."
Kabir’s temper flared. "Oh, so now I give speeches? Like I’m some loser with nothing better to do?"
Rekha crossed her arms, eyes steady. "I never said you’re a loser, Kabir. You call yourself that."
Kabir slammed his fist on the table. Aarav flinched. Kabir noticed but didn't stop. "You think I don't know what you’re thinking? That I’m a failure? That I drink because I can’t handle life? Tell me, Rekha, what should I do instead? Smile? Pretend like everyone else in the fake society that everything’s fine while our son—" His voice cracked, and he shook his head, gripping his forehead.
Rekha’s jaw tightened. "Aarav is still here, Kabir."
"Not for long." The words came out so sharp, so cruel, that Rekha sucked in a breath.
Aarav shifted uncomfortably, lowering his gaze. Kabir's expression softened for a second as he looked at his son. "I didn't mean—"
But the damage was done. Rekha turned away, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. The weight of years pressed down on her. The doctor visits. The mounting bills. The job she left to care for Aarav. The sleepless nights spent watching Kabir drown in self-pity and whiskey.
She had endured. She had endured because she believed things would change. But nothing ever did.
A glass crashed against the floor. Kabir had pushed his plate away, his hands trembling. "This isn’t the life I wanted, Rekha."
Rekha turned to him, her voice quiet. "Neither did I. I quit my life so that you could live yours."
Kabir blinked. He had expected anger. He had expected a fight. But this… this was something else.
Rekha walked over to the cupboard and took out a small travel bag. She moved in silence, picking up Aarav’s books, his medicines, his small collection of toy cars.
Kabir frowned. "What are you doing?" Rekha didn’t answer. She zipped up the bag, turned to Aarav, and held out her hand.
Aarav hesitated. "Mom?" She knelt before him, brushing his hair gently. "Come, son. We aren’t needed here anymore."
Kabir stood up suddenly. "Rekha, enough of this drama."
She finally looked at him. And for the first time in years, he saw it—the exhaustion in her eyes.
"This isn’t drama, Kabir. This is survival, my battle for survival. From today, you’re free, Kabir Saxena."
Kabir’s breath hitched. "You’re leaving?"
Rekha gave a sad smile. "No, Kabir. I left a long time ago. I was just waiting for you to notice."
Thunder rumbled outside. Kabir looked at Aarav, as if silently asking him to stay. But Aarav lowered his gaze. He loved his father. But love wasn’t enough when a home stopped feeling like one. Rekha turned, gripping Aarav’s hand.
The door creaked open. The rain outside had grown heavier, the city glowing in neon and storm. Kabir took a step forward. For a second, just a second, it looked like he would stop her. But he didn’t.
The door clicked shut.
Chapter 2: The Vacant Orbital
Morning in an Empty House…
Kabir woke up to silence. The kind that didn’t just fill a room but crept into the bones, settling there like a permanent resident. He sat up, his head pounding from the whiskey, his throat dry. The sofa in the dimly lit living room was where he had passed out last night—half-empty bottle on the table, shattered glass on the floor.
And then, the realization hit him. The house was empty. No faint sound of Aarav’s coughs. No clanking of Rekha’s bangles as she moved about.
Just him.
Kabir stood up, his steps slow. He opened Aarav’s room. The bed was neatly made, but the cupboards were open. The small bag Rekha had packed last night—gone.
In the kitchen, the stove was cold. There was no breakfast waiting, no warm cup of tea placed absentmindedly on the table as Rekha always did. He swallowed. A strange ache pressed at his chest.
He had thought—somewhere, in the deepest corners of his self-pity—that Rekha would be waiting when he woke up.
That maybe, after years of tolerating him, she would tolerate him one more time. But she was gone.
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The streets of Mumbai were alive, oblivious to the ruin inside him. Buses honked, street vendors shouted, the city moved.
Kabir sat at a local tea stall, staring at his half-empty cup of tea, stirring it absently.
Across from him sat Raj. The same old Raj. Salt-and-pepper stubble, office-wear tucked neatly, a worn-out leather bag on the chair beside him. A man who had figured out life, or at least, had made peace with the fact that life wasn’t meant to be figured out.
Raj took a slow sip of tea and leaned back. "So. She left?"
Kabir let out a bitter chuckle. "What else could she do?"
Raj watched him, letting him pour his heart out.
"I don’t blame her," Kabir admitted. "I mean, look at me. I’m a disaster. The job, the expectations, the bills... Aarav’s hospital expenses. My boy has been suffering from cancer for the last one year- " He shook his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "It just... it broke me, Raj. I wasn’t built for this."
Raj sighed.
"You remember college?" Kabir continued, voice quieter now. "We thought we'd rule the world. We had dreams, man. I wanted to write plays. You wanted to teach. But look at us now. Stuck in this stupid rat race."
Raj smiled. "At least I don’t drink myself to sleep every night."
Kabir shot him a glare. "Very helpful, Raj. Thanks."
Raj exhaled. "Look, bro, I get it. Life is not what we imagined. But tell me, whose is? You think you're the only one who lost dreams along the way? You think I'm teaching Shakespeare at Oxford? And to tell the truth, I was always happy with Engineering."
Kabir didn’t respond.
"Life isn’t a movie, Kabir. It’s not always a 3 Idiots, where you finally get to do what you want. There’s no background score, no perfect ending. You don’t just quit and expect the world to understand."
Kabir smirked. "You always did have a way of making things sound simple."
"Because it is simple," Raj said, finishing his tea. "You either fight for what matters… or drown in your own misery."
Kabir looked away.
"One question, Kabir." Raj’s voice turned serious. "Did you ever tell Rekha how much you loved her? Did you ever tell Aarav how much he meant to you? They are your world, dear. Have you ever told them how much they worth in your life?"
Kabir swallowed.
Raj nodded knowingly. "Yeah. Thought so."
He checked his watch and stood up. "I have to get back to work. But you? You need to figure it out, my friend. Or you’ll lose more than just your family."
Raj threw some cash on the table for the tea. And then, with a clap on Kabir’s shoulder, he left.
------------------------------
Kabir returned home, his mind replaying Raj’s words.
Did he ever tell Rekha or Aarav how much he loved them?
His fingers fumbled with the lock, and as he pushed open the door, he froze. There, at his doorstep, was an envelope. Yellowed paper. No stamp. No address.
Just his name, in familiar handwriting. He picked it up, hands unsteady.
The air in the apartment felt different. As if someone had been here. His heartbeat quickened as he tore open the letter.
And then, in bold, precise strokes, he read:
"Hi Kabir—Tired with life? Don't you wish to know what life gave you all this while and what exactly went wrong?
-Kabir Saxena, 20 years from the past."
The letter slipped from his hands.
The world tilted. A strange chill ran down his spine.
Chapter 3: Fractures of Time
Kabir sat motionless.
The letter lay on the table, its edges slightly curled from age, the ink faded but unmistakably his own handwriting.
"Hi Kabir—
Tired with life? Don't you wish to know what life gave you all this while and what exactly went wrong?
-Kabir Saxena, 20 years from the past."
His breath was uneven. His mind raced.
His younger self had written this? How? Why?
It had to be a joke. Some cruel prank. Maybe Raj? No—Raj wasn’t that type. Then who?
The apartment felt different. A strange stillness hung in the air, as if the walls were watching. He turned the letter over. No date. No return address.
But the ink was real. The creases, the folds, the faint scent of dusty old paper—it was all very real.
For the first time in years, Kabir felt something stir within him. A feeling he couldn’t place. Restlessness! A whisper of memories, long buried!
His hands trembled as he pushed himself up. He knew exactly where he had to go.
His study- a small, neglected room filled with forgotten things. A place he hadn’t stepped into in months—maybe years. The wooden door creaked as he pushed it open. Dust floated in the dim light of the single overhead lamp. Shelves lined with old books, unfinished scripts, ink-stained pages.
And there, in the farthest corner of the room, sat an old wooden chest.
His father’s. And inside it—his past.
He crouched down, pushing away files, reaching into the depths of forgotten years. His fingers brushed against a thick, familiar book. An album.
He pulled it out, its leather cover cracked with time. His name was scribbled on the first page in bold letters.
“Kabir Saxena.”
Not “Kabir, the corporate sellout.”
Not “Kabir, the failed husband.”
Not “Kabir, the man who drowned in his own misery.”
Just Kabir. The boy who once had dreams.
He swallowed hard, walked back to the fireplace, and sank into the old leather chair. The flames crackled softly, throwing flickering shadows across the room.
He took a deep breath. Then, with careful fingers, he flipped the first page.
And as he did— The present melted away. Mumbai’s little cramped apartment disappeared. The weight of failure, of regret, of life’s monotony—all faded.
And suddenly—He was somewhere else. He was someone else.
A younger Kabir. Laughter echoed in the background. A college campus. A world full of promise.
The past had opened its doors. And Kabir Saxena was stepping inside.
Chapter 4: The Synthesis
National College of Engineering, The Freshers’ Day – A New Beginning
The campus gates stood tall, welcoming a fresh wave of nervous, hopeful, and clueless faces into the vast world of engineering. Among them, Kabir Saxena and Raj Mehta stepped in—one grinning like he owned the place, the other dragging his feet like he had just entered a prison.
Kabir’s eyes swept across the lush greenery, the massive grey buildings, the buzzing energy of seniors waiting to pounce on fresh meat.
“This is it, bro.” Raj clapped his back. “Four years of engineering. Placement, job, money, life sorted.”
Kabir let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Yeah, four years of mugging up, pointless coding, and pretending to love circuits.”
“Bro, have you ever considered not being dramatic for five minutes?”
“Have you considered the possibility that we might have just made the biggest mistake of our lives?”
Raj shrugged. “Not me. You. I wanted to be an engineer. You wanted to be…” he smirked, “…Shakespeare Saxena.”
Kabir rolled his eyes. But deep inside, the words stung.
The auditorium was packed. The buzz of new friendships, accidental eye contact, forced smiles, and seniors whispering about their ‘targets’ for ragging.
“Hey! You two!”
Raj and Kabir turned to see three seniors approaching. One of them, Arjun Bhardwaj, clearly the leader, grinned.
“Introduce yourselves,” Arjun ordered, folding his arms.
Raj saluted dramatically. “Hi everyone. Raj Mehta, sir. From Delhi. Single, ready to mingle.”
The seniors laughed.
Kabir sighed. “Kabir Saxena, from Mumbai.”
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“Hey- you’ve got the attitude like Ambani’s son, don’t you?” Arjun smirked.
“Sir,” Raj said with a poker face. “His dad is no less. He is one of the greatest businessmen of the city.”
“Oh! Management Quota- I see. Brother, we’ve seen the journey of many management quotas to managers in tea stalls. So better ask your friend to keep the attitude to himself.”
The seniors howled. Kabir glared at Raj.
But before things could escalate, a professor entered. The mic squeaked as he adjusted it.
“Welcome, students. You’ve made it to one of the best engineering colleges in India. But let me warn you—the next four years will make you or break you. They will define you as a person for the rest of your life. Engineering won’t be easy- don’t misunderstand me to be Virus- we don’t encourage things like that, but I’m telling it once again, if you don’t love Engineering- its going to break you.”
Kabir exchanged a look with Raj.
Oh, it was definitely going to break him.
The First Lecture – Reality Hits
Professor Verma entered the classroom, his steel-rimmed glasses reflecting the overhead light.
“Open your textbooks,” he said. “Chapter One: Introduction to Circuit Analysis.”
Kabir flipped open the book, already feeling dead inside.
Half an hour in, and his brain was drowning in resistance, capacitance, inductance.
Raj nudged him. “You good, Shakespeare?”
“Do I look good?” Kabir whispered back.
“You look like someone just electrocuted your soul.”
Kabir groaned. “Bro, I can’t do this. Why am I here?”
Raj smirked. “Because your dad believes in forcible career guidance.”
Kabir banged his head on the desk.
And thus, the first day of engineering crushed his last remaining hopes to survive.
A Midnight Pact
Later that night, Raj and Kabir sat on the hostel rooftop, looking at the sprawling city lights.
“Dude,” Kabir sighed, staring at the stars, “do you ever wonder if we were meant to be something else?”
Raj stretched. “Bro, I don’t have existential crises at 1 AM.”
Kabir chuckled. “It’s just… I don’t want to be stuck in a life I hate.”
Raj thought for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “Then don’t be.”
Kabir looked at him, confused.
Raj smirked. “Make a pact. You’ll do what’s needed to pass, but you won’t let engineering kill your dream. You’ll write. You’ll put up plays. You’ll make sure that, even here, you are still Kabir Saxena.”
Kabir looked at his friend—the one person who never laughed at his dreams. He smiled.
And under the open sky, a promise was made. Engineering wouldn’t kill Kabir Saxena.
He would find a way to survive. Even if he had to fight the world for it.
Chapter 5: Bonds, Just Bonds…
Scene: The Hostel – Midnight Madness
1:47 AM.
The dimly lit hostel corridor smelled of instant noodles, old sneakers, and bad decisions. Inside Room 217, Kabir, Raj, and their band of fools were in the middle of an intense, earth-shattering discussion.
“I’m telling you,” Arif, the self-proclaimed genius, adjusted his glasses, “aliens exist. The government hides it.”
Raj yawned. “And I’m telling you, your brain doesn’t exist.”
Kabir, sprawled on the floor with a notebook in hand, chuckled. “Can we focus? We have an Electrical exam in six hours. We haven’t studied the entire semester.”
Silence.
Then, Pratik, who had been half-asleep on the chair, spoke with all the wisdom of a man who had seen life.
“Bro…” he muttered. “Sleep is temporary. Failure is permanent.”
The room erupted in laughter. But no one touched a book.
Instead, they did what all engineering students do best—bunk studying and make life-changing plans at ungodly hours.
Arif suddenly sat up. “You know what we should do?”
Raj smirked. “If this involves breaking any laws, count me in.”
Kabir grinned. “What’s the plan?”
Arif’s eyes gleamed. “A night adventure.”
Scene Shift: Mission Impossible
“The goal: Climb to the top of the mechanical workshop tower, leave a victory flag, and return undetected. The obstacle: The security guard, Dinesh Uncle—a retired army man with a sixth sense for mischief.”
Four figures crept through the darkness, their breaths held, their hearts pounding.
Kabir whispered, “Are we seriously doing this?”
Raj grinned. “Not ‘we.’ You. You’re the chosen one.”
Before Kabir could argue, a torchlight flashed.
“Who’s there?” Dinesh Uncle’s deep voice cut through the silence. Intense Panic.
Raj shoved Kabir forward. “RUN.”
What followed was a legendary chase—a Bollywood-level sprint through corridors, leaping over benches, ducking under windows, hearts pounding.
Kabir dived behind a parked bicycle, gasping for breath. Footsteps approached.
“Come out,” Dinesh Uncle’s voice was dangerously close. “You little pieces of hooligans!”
Just then—a distraction.
Pratik, standing behind a tree, yelled, “DINESH UNCLE, YOUR TEA IS GETTING COLD!”
Confusion yet again.
And in that one golden moment, Kabir leaped up the tower ladder.
Sweat dripped down his forehead as he climbed, fingers slipping, heart racing. He reached the top, pulled out the flag—a handkerchief with ‘Mehta & Co. Rules’ written in red marker—and planted it.
Below, his friends cheered silently. Mission accomplished.
Back to the Hostel-
Kabir entered the room, panting, victorious. “Boys, we did it.”
Raj smirked. “Correction. You did it. We just ran.”
Arif threw a pillow at him. But just as they were about to celebrate—
BANG!
The door swung open. Dinesh Uncle stood there. Arms crossed. A slow, deadly smile. The room fell silent.
Raj whispered, “Kabir… make peace with your gods.”
The Next Morning – The Aftermath
The entire gang stood outside the principal’s office, heads hanging like criminals on trial.
Inside, Principal Sharma massaged his temples. “Saxena. You climbed a government building. Do you know that it’s a punishable offence under law.”
Kabir coughed. “Technically Sir, it’s a college property.”
Sharma shot him a look. “And your justification for this stupidity?”
Raj spoke up. “Sir, sometimes in life, we must climb to the top to see the bigger picture.”
Sharma stared in disbelief.
Arif whispered, “Bro, you sound like a spiritual leader.”
The principal sighed. “Fine. One week of library duty. But Kabir, just because your father’s a close friend of mine, don’t take advantage every time. Now go!”
They cheered internally. Because, in engineering college, library duty was a small price to pay for eternal glory.
Final Scene: The Promise of Forever
Later that evening, they sat by the college lake, watching the sun dip behind the buildings.
Raj threw a pebble into the water. “One day, we’ll all leave this place. Leave back so many memories behind.”
Kabir smirked. “Yeah. And we’ll tell our kids we were responsible students.”
Laughter echoed in the air. And for a brief moment, life seemed perfect.
Chapter 6: Decaying Dreams
The Saxena mansion was built on prestige. It wasn’t just a home; it was a legacy of success, discipline, and unbreakable rules.
Kabir sat in the massive study room, his textbooks sprawled across the polished mahogany desk. He had come back from Hostel for the Winter Vacation, but this time, not alone- He had come back with lots of home-works and assignments. Ohm’s Law stared at him.
‘V = IR.’
But all Kabir saw were Shakespearean monologues hiding between the equations. "To be or not to be?" He scribbled in the margin. "To write or to calculate? The greatest joy of life lies in resistance."
The door creaked open.
Enters Mr. Vikram Saxena—industrialist, perfectionist, and a father who had no patience for dreamers.
He took one look at Kabir’s book and frowned. “What’s this nonsense?”
Kabir, caught off guard, quickly shut the notebook. “Nothing, Papa. Just… studying.”
Vikram Saxena wasn’t convinced. He walked to the table, picked up the book, and flipped through the pages.
His jaw tightened. "The world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players?" He roared.
Vikram turned to Kabir, his voice calm—but lethal. “So now Shakespeare will get you an engineering degree?”
Kabir gulped. “No, Papa. It’s just… I—”
His father’s voice cut through the air. “What do you want, Kabir?”
Kabir hesitated. His heart pounded. This was it.
"Say it. Say it once, and it will be real."
He took a deep breath. “I want to write plays. I want to be an eminent playwright. The entire world shall know me, they’ll come to see my plays. The halls will be crammed with audience.”
A long silence. The air felt heavy.
Vikram Saxena finally spoke, slowly, but deliberately.
“You’re my son, not some cheap street artist, Kabir. You will become an engineer. That’s final.”
Kabir clenched his fists. “But, Papa—”
Vikram’s eyes burned into him. “Do you even understand who you are? You’re a Saxena. Our name is built on success. Respect. Not childish fantasies. My greatest rival, Agarwal ji’s son’s an engineer and Mr. Prasad- his daughter is a gold medallist. It will be a shame if my son turns up to be a writer.”
Kabir’s voice rose. “And what if I don’t want to live by your name? What if I want to make my own? All it requires is passion.”
“Passion doesn’t pay your bills. My business is decaying, son. How will you manage your life after I pass away? You think these theatre people make a living? Do you want to beg for projects, run after producers, spend your life waiting for a hit that never comes?”
“I’d rather struggle for something I love than succeed in something I hate.”
Vijay gave a cruel laugh. “Spoken like a true loser. This is the last time I want to hear such nonsense,” he said. “You will focus on your studies. Nothing else matters.”
And with that, he walked out.
The room felt colder. Kabir sat there, staring at the door. His cheek stung, but his heart hurt more.
His father’s words echoed in his mind—"Nothing else matters."
So what about his dreams? Did they not matter at all?
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Scene: The Silent Witness
The air in the room shifted. And then, standing in the shadows—watching this memory unfold—was the future Kabir. Older. Wiser. A man burdened by regrets.
He stood by the bookshelf, his fingers lightly touching the same desk he once sat at.
He saw his younger self, crushed, silenced. And in that moment, a painful realization settled in. This was the night it all began. The night he gave up. The night he buried Kabir Saxena, the playwright, and became Kabir Saxena, the man who would eventually lose everything.
Future Kabir whispered to himself, “I should have fought harder.”
But his past self would never hear him. Because the past had already happened.
And some choices—once made—can never be undone.
Chapter 7: Recrystallization
Scene: The Engineering College Canteen – Lunchtime Chaos
The air smelled of cheap samosas, cold coffee, and shattered ambitions.
Kabir and Raj sat at their usual spot—a rickety metal table by the window, overlooking a dusty football field where some overenthusiastic seniors were pretending to be Ronaldo.
"Bro, I swear, this semester's electro-mechanics paper will be the end of me," Raj groaned, dramatically dropping his head onto the table.
Kabir smirked. “The only ‘mechanics’ you should be worried about is how you’ll fix your GPA.”
Before Raj could retort, a voice cut through the noise.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
Both of them turned. There she was—Rekha Mehta.
Dressed in a simple blue kurta, her books neatly stacked in one hand, confidence radiating from her like a nuclear explosion. Kabir had seen her before—the new lateral-entry student. People whispered about her. Topper. Scholarship kid. Doesn’t talk much. No-nonsense attitude.
Raj, still half-dead from academic stress, lazily gestured at the empty chair. “Nope. All yours.”
Rekha nodded, placed her books down, and sat. Silence. Kabir took a sip of his coffee, eyes flickering towards her out of sheer curiosity.
And then—A loud crunch.
Kabir choked. Because Rekha—without warning—had just bitten into a samosa from his plate.
He stared at her, utterly bewildered. “Uhh… that’s mine.”
Rekha looked up, completely unfazed. “Is it? You weren’t eating it.”
Raj burst out laughing. “Bro, she just hijacked your food.”
Kabir blinked. “That’s not how food works! You don’t just—”
Rekha held up the half-eaten samosa and shrugged. “Sharing is caring.”
Kabir narrowed his eyes. “That only applies when both people agree. But in this case, I never agreed.”
Rekha smirked, leaning back. “Well, I don’t believe in unnecessary formalities.”
Kabir exhaled sharply, leaning forward, matching her energy. “So basically, you’re a food thief? Miss Mysterio.”
Rekha tilted her head. “And you’re a drama queen, Mr. Saxena. Basically.”
Raj looked between them, grinning. This was getting interesting.
“Fine,” Kabir sighed, snatching her unopened juice box. “Since you believe in sharing, I’ll take this.”
Rekha raised an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle it?”
Kabir smirked. “It’s just mango juice, not a bomb.”
He punctured the straw in—and immediately spat it out. It was lassi. Raj collapsed into laughter.
Rekha, unfazed, took the juice box back. “That’s why you should always read the label.”
Kabir wiped his mouth, glaring at her. Rekha met his gaze with a challenge. And at that moment, something shifted.
Not love. Not even attraction. Just a strange fascination- may be friendships redefined.
Like two opposing forces—both equally stubborn, equally unshakable—had just collided. And neither was planning to back out.
Scene: Library – A Few Weeks Later
Kabir was sitting cross-legged on the floor, buried in books—except, of course, they weren’t engineering books.
They were play scripts. Shakespeare. Anton Chekhov. Vijay Tendulkar.
He scribbled notes in the margins, lost in his own world—until a voice broke his concentration.
“You know, for an engineering student, you have a terrible habit of ignoring engineering books.”
Kabir looked up. Rekha stood there, arms crossed, amusement flickering in her eyes.
He smirked. “For someone who hijacks people’s food, you have a terrible habit of invading people’s space.”
Rekha sat down beside him, glancing at his notes. “Plays, huh? So, what—are you planning to drop out and become a struggling artist?”
Kabir sighed dramatically. “Why, yes. That is the dream.”
Rekha chuckled. “Then why are you still here?”
Kabir hesitated. No witty comeback. No sarcasm. Just silence. Rekha noticed the shift. She softened. “Your family?”
Kabir nodded, tracing invisible patterns on the book cover. “My father. He thinks theatre is a joke. I don’t get a say. And believe me, this country’s really in a mess, now. You don’t get what you want and you don’t want what you get.”
Rekha was quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, she took one of his books and flipped through it.
“Huh,” she muttered.
Kabir raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
She pointed at a passage. “This monologue? It’s brilliant.”
Kabir blinked. “You… read plays?”
Rekha smirked. “I read everything.” A beat.
Then she tossed the book back to him. “You should at least write something for the college fest, Kabir.”
Kabir scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like anyone would care.”
Rekha shrugged. “Then let’s make them care.”
And just like that, the first seed was planted. A strange, unexpected friendship. Two people—one who had lost faith in his dreams, and one who refused to let him give up on them. It wasn’t love. Not yet. But something had begun. Something that would change everything.
Chapter 8: Metamorphosis
Scene: Engineering College – Evening – An Empty Classroom
Kabir sat by the window, his notebook open, but his pen unmoving. Words danced in his mind, but something held them back.
Rekha paced in front of him, frustrated. “You’ve been rambling about theatre since the day I met you. And now, when you have a chance to actually do something, you freeze? I told you that Raj and me, will handle your projects. Just focus on the script.”
Kabir sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
Rekha leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “What’s stopping you?”
Kabir exhaled. “What if no one likes it? What if it’s a disaster?”
Rekha scoffed. “Oh, please. The real disaster is that tragic poetry you scribbled on the last page of your notebook.”
Kabir looked offended. “Hey! That’s personal.”
Rekha smirked. “And this is public. An opportunity. The college fest is huge, Kabir. If you don’t take this shot, someone else will.”
Kabir stared at her. “Why do you even care?”
Rekha tilted her head, studying him. Then, in a rare moment of honesty, she said, “Because I see something in you that you don’t.”
The words hit Kabir like a jolt. For the first time, someone wasn’t dismissing his dreams. She believed in him—more than he believed in himself.
A long pause. Then, Rekha tossed a pen onto his desk. “So, what’s it going to be?”
Kabir looked at the pen, then at Rekha. He picked it up. And, for the first time in his life—he started writing for himself. Words flowed out from the depth of his heart with an unseen spontaneity.
Scene 2: Future Kabir Watches His Past Self Dream Again
Present Day – Kabir’s Apartment
Kabir sat frozen on his couch, staring at the letter in his hands. The faded ink. The familiar handwriting. The words from his past self. He didn’t just remember this moment.
He was there. Like a silent observer, he watched his younger self, sitting in that classroom, scribbling furiously, excitement burning in his eyes.
The future Kabir swallowed hard. When was the last time I looked like that?
When was the last time he had felt something beyond stress, beyond deadlines, beyond the suffocating weight of expectations?
He saw Rekha again—young, determined, full of fire. He saw how she had pulled him back from the edge of self-doubt. And now, years later, she had walked away—taking their son with her—because he had lost that fire.
Because he had become the very thing he once hated. The realization punched through him.
“When did I stop fighting for myself?”
A lump rose in his throat. He glanced back at the letter. His own words. A reminder. A warning. A second chance?
Outside, the rain poured. And for the first time in years, Kabir Saxena again felt something stir inside him.
Chapter 9: Equilibrium or Is It So?
Scene: The Engineering College Auditorium – Annual Fest Night
The actor: "You know what’s funny? Life hands you a script at birth—perfectly typed, no errors. ‘Be a good student, get a safe job, marry responsibly, pay taxes, retire, and then—poof!—exit stage left.’ But what if I told you I once had a different script? A wild, reckless, ink-smudged dream of writing plays instead of debugging circuits. And guess what? I edited my own lines out. Rewrote myself into a corporate tragedy. The protagonist who traded passion for a paycheck, who let applause turn into silent nods in a boardroom. And now, after all these years, I realize… I wasn't living. I was just a well-programmed machine in an assembly line of expectations.
But here’s the punchline—the audience still thinks I nailed my role. Society loves a man in a suit, not a man with a story. So tell me, dear spectators, is the joke on them… or on me? The final verdict lies with you."
The lights dimmed. The curtains fell. A second of stillness.
Then—thunderous applause.
The audience rose to their feet, clapping, whistling, cheering. Both the young audience and the elders were amazed to witness such a unique work on stage.
Kabir stood frozen behind the stage, the sound washing over him like a wave. His chest heaved. His heart pounded.
It was happening. His words, his story, his dream—alive, breathing, celebrated.
Backstage, Raj thumped his back. “Brother, you just did the impossible. A standing ovation in an engineering college… for a play? We just made history!”
Rekha, beaming, grabbed Kabir’s shoulders. “I told you. I told you! Look at them, Kabir. They loved it. This… this is what you were meant to do! If you live life on someone else’s terms, one day you’ll wake up and realize you never lived at all.”
Kabir couldn’t speak. He felt something stir inside him—something he had never felt before. A deep, undeniable sense of belonging.
And then—a slow, deliberate clap from the back of the green room.
His father.
Kabir’s stomach twisted.
The applause faded into an eerie silence as the towering figure of Mr. Saxena approached. His expensive watch gleamed under the stage lights. Raj and Rekha exchanged nervous glances.
Kabir forced a smile. “Papa, did you see that? They—”
SMACK!
The slap echoed across the hall. The silence turned suffocating.
Kabir’s cheek burned. His father’s voice, sharp and cold, cut through the tension. “Shameful.”
Kabir clenched his fists. “But—”
Mr. Saxena’s glare was ice. “I sent you to college to become an engineer, not some dramatist.”
Rekha stepped forward. “Sir, he—”
His father didn’t even glance at her. His focus was solely on Kabir. He stepped closer. “Make a choice, Kabir. Engineering or this circus. Any one. And choose well, for a lot of things will depend on this.”
His chest tightened. His palms turned clammy. His mind screamed. But years of conditioning, of silent obedience, of fear—won in the end.
Kabir lowered his gaze. “Engineering, papa.”
His father exhaled, satisfied. “Good. Now let’s go to the Principal’s room. I need to have a word with him.”
Rekha’s face fell. “Kabir…?”
Raj’s shoulders sagged. But Kabir had already made his choice. And it was the worst one of his life.
Scene: That Night – College Campus – Under the Banyan Tree
The streetlights flickered. The campus was deserted. The only sound was the wind rustling through the trees. Kabir sat on the old stone bench, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.
Rekha stood beside him, hands in her pockets, watching him. Waiting.
Then, slowly, his shoulders began to shake.
A broken whisper: “I don’t want this life, Rekha.”
She swallowed. His voice cracked. “I don’t want to wake up every day hating what I do. I don’t want to be a man who regrets every second of his life.”
Rekha sat beside him. “Then don’t.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “It’s not that easy. I have responsibilities. I’m a man.”
Silence.
Then, softly, she said, “Kabir, if you let the world decide who you are, you’ll spend your whole life trying to be someone you’re not.”
His eyes glistened. “But I don’t have the strength to fight him.”
Rekha exhaled. Then, for the first time, she reached for his hand. Warm. Steady.
“I do,” she whispered. “And as long as I’m here, you’ll never have to fight alone.”
Something in Kabir broke. The walls, the weight, the suffocating burden—he let it all go. He cried.
And Rekha sat beside him, holding his hand, holding his dreams, holding the version of him that no one else had ever seen.
Scene: Present Day – Kabir’s Apartment
Future Kabir stood in the shadows of that memory, watching his past self break down. Watching the moment his life split in two—the life he had wanted and the life he had chosen. His nails dug into his palms.
Why didn’t you fight back? Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you scream? Why didn’t you hold onto the one thing that made you feel alive?
The realization hit like a truck. The moment he gave up his dream… was the moment everything started going wrong. Not just his career. Not just his happiness. His soul. His marriage. His son.
The rain outside poured harder.
Future Kabir clenched his jaw. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Chapter 10: The Final Equation
The room was silent. The last page of the album stared back at him. Kabir’s fingers trembled as he traced the old photograph—a younger him, standing on stage, smiling like he had the whole world in his hands.
And then the reality hit. He had lost everything. His dreams. His love. His son.
A lump formed in his throat. The past wasn’t just a memory—it was a wound, one he had ignored for too long. He pushed the album away. His chair screeched against the floor as he stood up, heart racing.
Rekha.
Midnight – Rekha’s House
The road stretched endlessly. Kabir ran through the empty streets, past the closed shops, past the dim streetlights, past the version of himself that had accepted failure.
He banged on Rekha’s door. Once. Twice. No answer.
He pounded harder, desperate. Finally, the door creaked open. Rekha stood in the dim light of the hallway, her expression unreadable. Not angry. Not sad. Just… empty.
Kabir’s breath was ragged. “Rekha, I—”
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even seem surprised. Then, in a voice so soft it sent a chill down his spine, she said: "Aren’t you a little late, Kabir?"
He frowned.
She exhaled, her lips curling into the saddest smile he had ever seen. "It would have been his tenth birthday today."
Silence.
A knife to his chest. A punch to his gut. Everything blurred. He stumbled back, his body suddenly feeling weightless.
No. Not today. Not his birthday. Not… his son.
Kabir shoved past her, running through the hallway like a madman. He had to see him. He had to hold him. He had to— tell him for one last time, that Dad was always there for him.
He pushed the door open. And then—the world stopped.
His son lay there on the small bed, curled up under his blanket. So still. So silent.
Too silent.
Kabir's legs gave out. He collapsed beside the bed, his shaking hands reaching out, pressing against the little chest. No rise. No warmth. Just… emptiness.
His throat burned. His vision blurred. A scream rose inside him, but his lips wouldn’t part. And then, his eyes fell on the small piece of paper in his son's hand.
A letter. His trembling fingers unfolded it.
The words—written in a shaky, handwriting, similar to the one in the letter at his own house—cut deeper than any blade ever could.
"So Kabir Saxena finally remembers himself, Dad."
The world tilted for Kabir. The past, the present, the regrets—they all crashed into him at once. He had spent years running from his dreams, thinking he had all the time in the world. But time… had run out.
And for the first time, he understood. It wasn’t fate. It wasn’t bad luck. It wasn’t the world against him.
It was him, just him.
The moment he let go of his dreams, the moment he stopped fighting—that was the moment he lost. Everything.
The album, the memories, the applause, Rekha’s hand in his—it all felt like another life. One he could never return to.
The rain poured outside.
And Kabir Saxena, the boy who once dreamed of writing stories, sat beside his son's lifeless body—another memorable character in the tragic play he had written himself.
