Pain is simple. It comes when it wants, leaves when it chooses.
But absence—of memory, of identity, of reason to exist—that stays.
My name is Bhagya Vesh, but the name means nothing. It never did. It was given to me by a social worker in an underfunded orphanage, scrawled onto a birth certificate forged for a boy who had no beginning.
No one remembers finding me. No one knows where I came from. No relatives, no clues, not even a note. I simply... was.
A boy with no past.
A name with no story.
A life that shouldn't have begun—yet somehow did.
---
People talk about luck like it's some kind of blessing or curse. Mine? It's more like a warning label.
Streetlights flicker when I pass beneath them. I've been in three accidents where others were badly hurt—and I walked away with nothing but dust on my shirt. I've seen clocks stop. People forget my name hours after meeting me. I once disappeared from a school's attendance system for a full semester.
I used to Laugh it off.Just Bad Luck.Bad Day
But what if I am a Glitch in this system?
"I must have lost my mind to think something so cringe."
___
Then began,
The dreams that started few weeks ago.
Always the same:
Darkness. My hands — drenched in red. Not someone else's blood.But Mine.
In the dream, I'm falling. Or maybe being torn apart. Bones cracking. Skin burning. My heart — it always stops.
And then, He appears.
A towering figure of impossible light and gravity. I can never see His face. But His presence is unbearable, like a truth too old for the mind to hold. He doesn't speak, but somehow, I always know:
The One whose Name is Eternal.
He watches. Always. As if judging me—not for what I am, but for what I was.
And just before I wake up, I hear a single whisper echo across the burning air:
"You were not supposed to return."
And then I wake.
Sweating. Gasping. My entire body aching like I'd been through a war I couldn't remember.
Sometimes I can't move for minutes. As if my soul came back… in pieces.
I used to think it was trauma. Or guilt for things I can't remember.
But as day passed by it got worse.
Last night.
I saw myself.
Dead.
I was standing in a field of white. Silent. Empty.
Then a sound — like paper tearing across the sky.
A light. Blinding.
Something ripped through me — my chest. I looked down. A hole.
I fell backwards. Slowly. Like time had lost its weight.
As I fell, I saw something above me.
Not a person. Not a god.
Just… eyes. Endless eyes. Watching. Flickering. Disappointed.
Then a voice. Not cruel, not kind.
> "Thread not found."
"Soul fragment…unregistered."
"Abort?"
"…Destiny reached."
"…Override accepted."
___
I woke up screaming
The pain was real this time. My ribs ached. My spine felt cracked. My lungs were fire. I couldn't breathe.
It faded after a few minutes. Not entirely — but enough to let me move.
I looked at my hands. No blood. Just shaking fingers.
I walked to the mirror and stared.
For a moment — just one — I didn't see myself.
But the person looked like me whose eyes were old like he had experienced something huge, something unavoidable, unacceptable but still had to accept that harsh reality.
I stepped back,
Like this had happened before.
Like this was just another round in a cycle that should have ended.
---
There are moments now—waking moments—when time seems to split. A flicker in the corner of my eye. A thought I didn't think. A voice—my voice—saying something I didn't mean to say.
Once, I caught my reflection smiling when I wasn't.
I don't know what I am. A cursed soul? A forgotten echo? A mistake?
All I know is this:
I don't feel real.
And yet I exist.
Somehow.
I'm the man who keeps coming back from something no one else can know.
The only thought I have is that,
The dreams that I am dreaming is a memory of someone.
A faded memories....which should not exist.
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