The lifeless tubelight was buzzing, emitting a harsh and bright glow on the dark area. The books were neatly arranged in the grey-coloured metal shelves.
K.D Sharmae, Moswaal, Chemistrywala.
Rohit was searching, hoping to find one that looked the most attractive to him.
I should've looked for them before coming here…
He knew that he should not judge the book by its cover, but it was 2 in the night, and he was very sleepy. He picked up one of the books from the shelf and slowly walked towards the counter.
The shopkeeper, likely in his forties, scratched his pot belly and checked the book, "two thousand and one hundred fifty rupees". He said lifelessly, tired of dealing with the customers all day.
"Can't it be lower?" Rohit had to buy the book from the savings that his uncle rarely gave him.
The shopkeeper pissed, looked at Rohit and said firmly, "Take it or leave… I am waiting to close the shop."
Rohit sighed as his pupils dropped onto the floor. "Fine." He pulled out his wallet, which was mostly empty, as he pulled out four grey five-hundred-rupee notes and one orange two-hundred-rupee note.
The shopkeeper took the money and returned the fifty-rupee change to him.
Rohit got out of the shop as he looked around. The streets were filled with people on the day, but at night it seemed very calm, very comforting and relaxing; he lived in the safe part of the town.
Suddenly his head started spinning as his vision started blurring in and out; it seemed like someone had hit him on the head with a metal baseball bat with full might.
He brought out his hand and placed it to his temples, trying to soothe the pain or to make it go away somehow, but it only increased over time. He thought to shout for help, and as soon as he opened his mouth, his vision faded as his eyes shuttered close.
"You are to serve me."
Suddenly he opened his eyes, but the scene wasn't the same in infront of him; he was not in his house. He was somewhere else.
Transmigration?!
He turned his head around and analysed the room, desperate to find a mirror.
Suddenly he rushed towards the mirror and saw himself: Black hair, green irises, and a fair complexion. It was clear he had been transmigrated.
Rohit calmed down and breathed evenly as he tried to concentrate his mind. Many people would have been terrified by this situation, but he was really happy. He would be happy to do anything that let him stay away from his uncle.
I am in a different body in another world…,' he thought. Or other universes or dimensions, maybe.
Rohit scratched his head and tried to figure out a way to regain the memories of this body, because if this man whose body he is in had a family member or a roommate, then
Rohit analysed the room and looked at his surroundings. His room had a gas lamp connected to a pipeline near his study table; his small bed was in the opposite direction of the table; the windows were situated on the wall in which the table was attached.
The room had bland colours, and as he peeked out of the window, he noticed that the moon was an abnormally large crescent and stars bigger than stars in his world.
The gas lamp was burning with the fire that lit up the whole room; it was warmer than the lifeless tube light and better.
Rohit looked at the parchments lying on the table; he took a step forward to move closer to it and picked it up. Suddenly, memories of this life came rushing into his mind.
Robert Smith was a young man of age 23 who worked in the central library of Cosford as a night shift guard. He had no account of his dad, but he had a loving mother and two sisters. Lily Smith and Mary Smith, his mother, were devoted believers of the goddess of Star and Moon.
Rohit nods, "Memories are coming slowly I guess…"
Rohit got up and looked around the room again. He saw a shredded newspaper; the newspaper was in pieces. It almost seemed like Robert had torn it apart in a fit of rage.
He reached it and crouched, picking up its pieces.
On the date of 02/07/1320, in the biggest disaster of an airship that mankind has ever seen, an airship has crashed. The causes of the accident and crash are unknown; local police and higher authorities of the country are working together to reach the root cause of this misfortune.
Airship crash?, Rohit thought.
Rohit realised that memories of Robert Smith were coming back from him touching the things that were connected to his life.
However, he wondered why Robert tore the page. Could it be?
If any of my family were connected to this accident, then I surely would know by the letters; surely the local police would have contacted me, informing me about the accident.
Rohit walked out of his small 1-storey house that was squeezed between two taller and more modern buildings.
Rohit observed the area, elevated footpath and a dedicated road for steam carriage running around it. Rohit looked at people who were walking on the footpath; they were dressed in suits and hats, and some were even walking with canes.
He opened his post box which was attached to the walls of his entrance and took out the letter. As soon as he touched the letter, memories came rushing back.
His mother and sisters went out of Hereford to meet their maternal family; someone was needed to take care of the house, so Robert decided to stay. The airship from which they went to Hereford was the same airship that had crashed. However, only the death of his mother and Mary Smith was confirmed, and Lily's body was missing; thus, her death wasn't confirmed.