Mumbai, India – June 5, 2025
The rain hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, each drop creating tiny ripples in the puddles that lined the cracked roads of Mumbai. The air smelled of wet earth and exhaust fumes, a familiar blend of nature and urban chaos.
Arjun Mehta, sixty-three years old, jogged through the dimly lit street, his shoes splashing through shallow puddles. His mind was elsewhere—preoccupied with college exams, his future, and the suffocating weight of expectations from his middle-class family. The night was unusually quiet, save for the occasional honk of a passing rickshaw and the distant chatter of street vendors packing up for the day.
Then he saw her.
A little girl, no older than six, stood frozen in the middle of the road, her tiny hands clutching a faded pink school bag. Her eyes were wide with fear as the headlights of an oncoming truck bore down on her. Time seemed to slow. The driver was oblivious, the vehicle barreling forward at full speed.
Arjun didn't think.
His body moved on instinct.
Darting forward, he ignored the blaring horn, his heart pounding like a war drum. He reached the girl in seconds, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her out of harm's way.
A sharp impact.
A deafening crash.
A moment of pain so intense it was beyond description.
Then, silence.
Darkness wrapped around him like an old friend, pulling him into an abyss. His consciousness slipped away, but not before he heard distant voices—shouts, gasps, someone crying.
And then… nothing.
A strange warmth enveloped Arjun, contrasting starkly with the cold pavement he last remembered. He felt weightless, as if floating in a vast, endless space. When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing on a marble platform suspended in a golden void. The sky above him was endless, painted in shades of orange and violet, shifting like a living canvas.
In front of him stood a woman.
She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Ethereal, glowing, with flowing silver hair that cascaded down her back like liquid moonlight. Her eyes shimmered with galaxies, deep and infinite. She was adorned in a robe made of celestial fabric, shifting between colors as if woven from the very essence of the cosmos.
"Arjun Mehta," she spoke, her voice like a melody that echoed through the void.
He took a shaky breath, his mind struggling to process what was happening. "Am I… dead?"
The woman smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her expression. "Yes… and no."
Arjun frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."
She stepped forward, her bare feet making no sound against the marble. "You died saving a child, an act of true selflessness. The cycle of life and death is strict, but occasionally, a soul earns a second chance. You have been given an opportunity to reincarnate."
The words hung in the air. Arjun blinked, his breath hitching. "Reincarnate? Like… I get to live again?"
"Yes," the goddess confirmed. "But not as you were. You will be reborn in the past—1980, Mumbai. You will awaken as yourself, eighteen years old, but in a time before you were even born in your previous life."
Arjun's mind reeled. This was insane. Rebirth? Time travel? How was this even possible? Yet, deep down, something in him whispered that it was real. He could feel it.
"Why me?" he asked finally. "Why send me back?"
"Because destiny is fluid," the goddess said. "And because I wish to grant you a gift—a reward for your sacrifice. You may choose three wishes, within reason. I cannot grant you divine powers, nor can I change the fundamental nature of the world. But I can grant you skills, knowledge, or abilities that will aid you in your new life."
Arjun's mind raced. This was an opportunity beyond imagination. He could start fresh, relive a world long before the digital age, and shape his destiny with knowledge of the future.
After a moment, he spoke carefully.
"My first wish: I want a photographic memory and the ability to solve any problem with perfect clarity."
The goddess smiled. "Granted. Your mind will retain every detail, and no puzzle will be beyond your comprehension."
Arjun took a breath. "Second wish: I want complete knowledge of the stock market and economy from 1980 to 2025."
"A wise choice," the goddess nodded. "You will understand market trends, crashes, booms, and key investments before they happen."
Arjun clenched his fists. He was playing this smart. "Final wish: I want the full knowledge of technological and medical advancements 99 years into the future."
The goddess let out a soft laugh. "A man of ambition. With this, you will have the knowledge of innovations yet to be discovered, medicines yet to be invented, and machines yet to be built. But knowledge is not power unless used wisely."
"I understand," Arjun said.
The goddess extended her hand, and the void around them shimmered. "Then go, Arjun Mehta. Your second life begins now."
A blinding light erupted around him, and everything dissolved into white.
A sharp gasp.
Arjun jolted upright, his body drenched in sweat. He looked around wildly, his breath ragged.
Sunlight streamed through an old wooden window, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air. He was lying on a thin mattress in a small room, the scent of old wood and incense lingering in the air. His heart pounded. Something felt… off.
Then he saw it.
An old calendar on the wall—yellowed and faded.
June 6, 1980.
A mirror stood in the corner. Arjun stumbled towards it, gripping the wooden frame. The reflection staring back at him was himself—eighteen years old. His skin was smooth, his hair fuller, his body younger. It was real. He had been reborn.
Memories surged into his mind—economic shifts, medical breakthroughs, technological marvels. He knew them all. Every single one.
His hands trembled as he whispered to himself.
"This… this is real."
A knock on the door startled him.
"Arjun, wake up! You'll be late for college!"
The voice was familiar—a woman's voice, warm and full of life. His heart clenched. His mother.
She had been gone for years in his past life. And now… she was here. Alive.
Tears burned in his eyes.
His second life had truly begun.