2021
India, Delhi
Laxmi Nagar, East Delhi
Inside a modest two-storey house in Laxmi Nagar, an eighteen-year-old boy slept peacefully in his bedroom, unaware that this calm morning stood at the edge of chaos.
His name was Raj Verma.
Raj was the youngest child of the Verma family. His father, Aditya Verma, was a government officer who believed deeply in discipline and responsibility. His mother, Aarti Verma, managed the household with quiet strength and endless patience. His elder sister, Alia Verma, a practicing lawyer, was sharp-minded, confident, and fiercely protective of her younger brother.
Recently, Raj had completed his 12th standard science board examination with an impressive 95 percent. He had applied to one of Delhi's most reputed institutions—Delhi Science and Technology College—carrying with him equal parts hope and determination. Calm, thoughtful, and kind by nature, Raj avoided unnecessary conflict.
He trusted logic more than power and knowledge more than force.
His dream was clear: to become the greatest scientist India had ever produced.
"Raj, wake up. It's your first day of college. New semester. Don't tell me you're not going."
The voice reached him before the sunlight did.
Raj opened his eyes and sat up instantly, energy rushing through him. Today was different. Today mattered. He hurried to the bathroom, freshened up, changed his clothes, and paused briefly in front of the mirror.
"First day of college," he said to himself with a small smile. "This is really cool."
He packed his backpack carefully—books, project files, everything in order—and stepped out of his room. The door had barely opened when he ran straight into his sister.
"Oh, good morning, sister," Raj said cheerfully, ready to escape.
Alia blocked his way. "Good morning? Mom's been calling you since morning. You sleep like Kumbhkaran. Go fast, or Dad will start his lecture again."
"Okay, okay," Raj laughed and rushed toward the kitchen.
"Good morning, Mom. Good morning, Dad."
"Eat fast," Aarti said, placing a plate in front of him. "You'll miss the bus on your first day."
"Don't worry, Mom."
Raj sat down and began eating his aloo paratha. Across the table, Aditya Verma watched him with sharp, experienced eyes. Raj noticed the look and smiled like a child caught doing something wrong.
"You're late again, Raj," Aditya said firmly. "I won't say much, but remember this—discipline with time matters. Don't make this a habit."
Raj nodded. He knew his father was strict, but every word came from concern.
After breakfast, Raj washed his hands, touched his parents' feet, waved goodbye, and stepped out. The bus stop was only a short walk away. People stood around talking about their lives—jobs, shops, responsibilities.
Raj watched them quietly and thought, This is my India.
The bus arrived. Raj climbed in and took a seat.
"Ticket?" the conductor asked.
"One DST," Raj replied.
The conductor handed him the ticket—DST, short for Delhi Science and Technology College. As the bus moved forward, Raj opened his chemistry book and began reading. Outside the window, Delhi came alive—bikes, scooters, food stalls, the early-morning rush, and ordinary people living ordinary lives, unaware of how fragile normalcy truly was.
"DST aa raha hai. Blue jacket boy, ready," the conductor called.
Raj closed his book, adjusted his backpack, and stepped off the bus.
Before him stood the tall, aging buildings of Delhi Science and Technology College. After showing his ID at the gate, he entered the campus. The college was vast—multiple buildings, wide grounds, and students everywhere.
Raj hurried toward his classroom. As he stepped inside, the lecture had already begun.
"Mr. Verma," Professor Mehra said sharply. "First day of the new semester, and you're late?"
"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again," Raj replied apologetically.
"Go to your seat," the professor said. "And remember—I don't like late students."
Raj nodded and scanned the room.
"Raj, here."
He turned to see Karan Malhotra, smiling and waving him over. Raj took the seat beside him.
Karan Malhotra—eighteen years old, Raj's childhood friend. They had known each other since sixth standard. Karan came from a wealthy family with businesses across India, but money had never touched their friendship.
"Late again," Karan whispered. "You really need to manage time better."
"Don't start," Raj replied. "I already heard the same lecture from Dad."
"Uncle and I only want your good," Karan said with a grin.
The class settled as Professor Mehra continued teaching, writing important topics on the board. Raj listened carefully, focused.
After Professor Manohara finished the lecture, the class slowly emptied. Raj closed his notebook as Karan stretched beside him.
"Seriously, Raj," Karan said as they walked toward the canteen, "you completed that project in such a short time. You're really smart."
Raj smiled. "Yes, yes. Worship me later."
"Oh please," Karan laughed. "Don't praise yourself too much, Kumbhkaran."
They sat down in the canteen with the lunch provided by the college. Around them, students laughed, argued, and talked—college life in its purest form. Their conversation drifted toward science. Karan asked questions; Raj answered calmly, explaining with ease.
Then a voice nearby caught Raj's attention.
"Hi, Pooja. You're looking really nice today."
Raj turned.
She stood a few tables away—black hair, calm eyes, simple yet graceful. Her name was Pooja, a student from the arts stream. There was nothing loud about her beauty, yet it drew attention effortlessly. Many admired her. Many tried. She rejected them all politely—never with arrogance.
This was the first time Raj had seen her.
He had heard about her before, but this was different.
"Raj," Karan snapped his fingers. "Come back. She's out of your range."
Raj looked away quickly, embarrassed.
Karan smirked. "Relax. She's kind, ordinary background, arts stream. If you try, you might win her heart. But be careful—half the boys are already after her."
Raj's face turned red.
"Karan, stop it," he muttered. "Let's eat."
"Okay, Mr. Majnu."
After lunch and the remaining activities, they walked toward the exit. Outside, Karan's black luxury car waited. Many students wanted to be his friend because of his wealth, but he avoided them. He preferred being alone—or with Raj.
"See you tomorrow," Karan said.
Raj waved and walked toward a nearby store to buy project materials. He liked working alone. It gave him space to think.
Later, he reached the bus stop and sat waiting. After thirty minutes, the bus arrived. Raj boarded, bought a ticket, and took a window seat.
The bus moved through Delhi's busy roads.
And then—everything changed.
Without warning, two heavy trucks collided at high speed. The impact slammed directly into the bus. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The vehicle tilted violently.
Raj was thrown forward.
Glass exploded across his face. Blood blurred his vision. His ears rang, drowning out every scream. The world fractured—broken sounds, flashing lights, fading consciousness.
His mind felt like it burst.
Then—darkness.
Sirens echoed. Ambulances arrived. Injured passengers were pulled out one by one. Raj lay motionless as he was taken to the hospital.
He slipped into a deep coma.
Unaware that this accident was not the end but the beginning of something far more terrifying and extraordinary.