"In the forgotten folds of time, there was a flame no god could tame.Sealed in flesh, cursed in silence.When it returns, it will not seek salvation.It will seek to belong."
The boy believed in good karma.Not because he was religious—just hopeful.
Twice a week, like clockwork, he'd carry leftover roti, milk, or whatever he could spare, to the alley where stray dogs waited like silent priests. He fed them gently, then crossed the road to where a limping cow always stood. He'd bow his head, press his palm to her horn, and whisper,
"Bas thoda sa naseeb de de. Just a little luck, okay?"
He never asked for riches. Never asked for fame. Just a small wish: Let my life be a little easier.
But life didn't deal in wishes. Not for boys like him.
He lived in a two-room flat on the second floor of a fading yellow building. His mother couldn't walk—paralyzed from the waist since he was eleven. His father worked double shifts in a factory, hands always smelling of rust and cheap soap. His younger brother still believed cartoons were real.
And him?
He smiled a lot. The kind of smile that made teachers say "Such a good boy." The kind of smile that hides how tired someone is.
That day was like any other. Hot wind. Dusty roads. The prayer bell ringing in the background as he left with his friends.
There was Manu, loud and foul-mouthed, already arguing with a chaiwala about two rupees.And Rishi, quiet and somewhere between good and bad—just enough to blend in.Three boys. One second-hand bike. No helmets.
"We'll reach before sunset," he laughed, clinging to Rishi from the back.
He didn't even see the car.
Just the sound.
Metal. Screaming. Bones.
Then silence.
When he opened his eyes, the sky was no longer blue.It bled crimson.
The road was gone. The sun was too close. And something in his chest... burned.
Not like fire.Like punishment.
He stood in a world that did not welcome him.
And for the first time, the boy who had always prayed, always smiled, always fed the helpless—asked the one question no god answered:
"Why me?"