They called him everything—visionary, genius, icon, billionaire before thirty.To the world, Aarav Malhotra had won the game of life.But behind the polished suits and spotless reputation, he lived a life quieter than death itself.
His mornings began with silence.No alarm clock—his body was trained like a machine.He would walk into his 18th-floor penthouse gym, put on his headphones, and run.Not to get fitter. Not for health.Just to keep moving.Because if he stopped moving, the silence would get louder.And he wasn't ready to hear it.
Breakfast was protein powder and black coffee. No family around the table. No texts from anyone except his assistant.He owned four luxury homes across the world, but they all looked the same—cold, white, sterile.Like operating rooms.Places you visit. Not places you live in.
By 9:00 AM, he'd be in his office tower—glass and steel rising above the city like a sword piercing the clouds.People would bow. Interns would whisper."That's the guy who started with nothing.""No emotions, just results.""He fires people like they're numbers."
Aarav didn't hear them.Or maybe he did. But he didn't care anymore.
He had once tried to love. Once.A girl in college.She left. Said he didn't know how to feel.She wasn't wrong.
Years later, he didn't remember her name—but he remembered the way she looked at him before leaving:Like he was a masterpiece carved from stone. Beautiful. But lifeless.
Tonight Was Supposed to Be a Celebration.
Ten years since his company went public.The stock price had hit an all-time high.He was crowned "Man of the Decade" by Forbes.His board had thrown him a party in a hotel ballroom filled with chandeliers, champagne, and expensive suits.
He stood on stage.Gave a speech.Smiled for cameras.
Then walked out alone.
No one followed.
Rain lashed the windows of his custom black Maybach as it cut through the city. His driver kept his eyes on the road.Aarav sat in the back seat, scrolling mindlessly through news alerts.
"Aarav Malhotra: The Man Who Never Loses.""Ten Years, Ten Billion.""The Untouchable."
He shut the screen.
Untouchable? Then why does everything I touch feel so cold?
His phone lit up again.A text from an unknown number.
"Happy Death Anniversary, Dad. I'm sorry I didn't come to the grave this year either."
Aarav stared.The words blurred.He hadn't sent flowers. Again.
It had been five years since his father passed.He didn't attend the funeral properly—just showed up, said a few words, then left early for a board meeting.
He had always told himself he was too busy for grief.But tonight... the silence pressed harder on his chest.
The road twisted. The rain thickened.His driver slowed.
"Sir, there's construction ahead. Should I take the bridge route?"
Aarav didn't answer.His eyes were fixed on the side mirror. A pair of headlights behind them. Too close. Too fast.
And then—A flash of white.Brakes screeching.The sound of metal cracking.His body weightless.
Then—darkness.
No sirens.No pain.Just... silence again.
But this time, not the cold silence of his luxury home.This silence was warm.Almost divine.
He tried to open his eyes but couldn't.He felt like he was floating in air—disconnected from weight, from time, from himself.
Then a voice.
"You lived like a king, but died with no one calling your name.""You forgot the touch of love, the warmth of a hug, the meaning of a home.""You shall be born again—not to rule, but to learn."
Suddenly, breath.A sharp intake of air.A different body.Pain in his ribs.His hand—smaller, thinner.
His eyes opened.He was no longer in his car.No longer in his home.No longer in his body.
And through the cracked ceiling of a rundown room, a sliver of light broke through.
"Where... am I?"