Sirajganj was burning that day—not with fire, but with silence. The kind of silence that presses on your chest and tells you something is wrong, though no one else feels it.
I walked slowly, like always, hands in pockets, ignoring the chaos of life around me. The clatter of rickshaws, the cries of vendors, the distant hum of the train station—none of it touched me anymore. It had been years since anything did.
I was twenty-eight. Unemployed. Unwanted. Unknown.
My mother still prayed for me, I think. My neighbors barely looked at me. My old friends? They didn't even bother pretending to care anymore.
That morning I had skipped breakfast. Not because I was in a rush—but because I didn't have the strength to eat. Hunger had become a dull ache, a background noise to the real pain that lived in my head.
When I reached the edge of the road by Station Mor, something in the air shifted. I couldn't explain it, but I felt it—like the day was watching me.
Then I heard the horn.
A truck.
Close. Too close.
I turned, just as the sunlight caught the windshield. My eyes squinted, my feet hesitated, and for one frozen second… I stood still.
The horn grew louder, drowning out everything else.
People screamed. Some pointed. I felt the air shift, the ground vibrate. But I didn't move.
Not because I was brave. Not because I wanted to die.
But because I had nothing left to run for.
The impact never came—at least, not the way I expected. I didn't feel pain. I didn't hear my bones break or my body hit the ground.
Instead, there was a sudden pull—like being yanked underwater by something vast and invisible.
Then… silence.
Darkness.
No sound. No body. No weight. Just… floating.
Time disappeared. I didn't know if seconds passed, or hours, or years. I didn't even remember my name.
But slowly, gently, something began to return.
A feeling.
Then warmth.
Then sound—soft, rhythmic. A distant humming. Almost like breathing.
I gasped.
My chest rose on its own. My fingers twitched. My eyes blinked against soft light leaking through a high window.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar—white, smooth, clean. Too clean. The walls hummed faintly, like machines were alive inside them.The crirps..
And the smell—sterile, cold, unfamiliar.
I sat up slowly, my head spinning.
My body felt… light. Too light. My limbs moved too fast, too easily. I looked down at my hands.
Smaller.
Younger.
This wasn't my body.
I staggered to my feet and saw a piece glass
I stated at a glass
A boy looked back.
I whispered, "What is this?"