I often wondered what would have happened if I'd made different choices. What if I hadn't been
so naive during my college years? What if I'd focused more on building practical skills instead of
just getting good grades? What if I'd chosen a different field altogether? The "what-ifs" were
endless and torturous.
My social life was practically non-existent. Most of my college friends had either moved to
different cities or were too busy with their own struggles. The few who remained were doing
significantly better than me—better jobs, better salaries, better prospects. Meeting them had
become a source of embarrassment rather than joy.
Dating was out of the question. Apart from my physical appearance, which I'd let slide due to
stress eating and lack of time for exercise, my financial situation made it impossible to even think
about relationships. How could I ask someone out when I couldn't afford to pay for a decent
dinner? How could I think about a future with someone when my own future looked so bleak?
The weight gain had been gradual but persistent. College Jake was lean, reasonably fit, and
confident. Working Jake was a different creature altogether—stressed, overweight, and
perpetually tired. The combination of desk work, irregular eating habits, cheap processed food,
and zero exercise had transformed my body into something I barely recognized in the mirror.
My parents, bless their hearts, tried to be supportive, but I could see the worry in their eyes
during my monthly visits home. They'd invested so much in my education, taking loans and
making sacrifices, hoping I'd provide them with a comfortable retirement. Instead, here I was,
struggling to keep my own head above water.
The apartment Roney and I shared was a testament to our financial constraints. Two bedrooms,
one bathroom, a small kitchen, and a living area that doubled as Roney's laboratory. The walls
were thin, the plumbing was temperamental, and the landlord was constantly threatening rent
increases. But it was what we could afford, splitting the ₹18,000 monthly rent.
Roney's project, whatever it was, had taken over most of our common space. Cables snaked
across the floor, mysterious devices hummed and beeped at all hours, and the electricity meter
spun like a pinwheel. I'd asked him multiple times what exactly he was working on, but his
explanations were so convoluted and filled with scientific jargon that I'd given up trying to
understand.
"It's about consciousness transfer," he'd said once, his eyes gleaming with the fervor of a mad
scientist. "Imagine being able to transfer human consciousness to different temporal states. The
possibilities are limitless!"
At the time, I'd chalked it up to his usual grandiose theories. Roney was always working on
something that would "revolutionize human existence" or "change the fundamental nature of
reality." Most of his projects ended up as expensive paperweights.
But this one seemed different. He'd been working on it for over two years, pouring every waking
moment and every penny into its development. The equipment alone must have cost more than
my annual salary. Where he got the funding, I had no idea. The guy lived like a monk otherwise—
instant noodles, old clothes, and zero social expenses.
As I stood there, contemplating whether to unplug his machine, I couldn't help but reflect on how
different our approaches to life were. Roney was a dreamer, a visionary who believed he could
change the world through sheer will and scientific brilliance. I was a realist, beaten down by the
harsh realities of modern life, just trying to survive one day at a time.
The machine suddenly emitted a low hum, different from its usual background noise. The sound
grew louder, more insistent. I approached it cautiously, noting how the various displays were
flickering more rapidly than usual. Something was definitely happening.