Date: 31 December 2025
Location: Mumbai, India
Mumbai never slept.
Even at night, the city breathed—through the hum of traffic, the glow of streetlights, and the restless movement of people chasing dreams that often slipped through their fingers. The sea beside Marine Drive reflected the city lights like broken stars scattered across black water.
Krishna rode his old motorcycle slowly along the curved road.
The engine made a tired sound, much like its rider.
The wind hit his face, cold and sharp, but he barely felt it. His mind was heavy, weighed down by thoughts he had carried for years—thoughts that never left him, no matter how hard he tried to escape them.
Above the road, a massive hoarding stood tall.
A new movie poster.
"DHURANDHAR – Releasing This Friday"
The face of a famous Bollywood actor, Ranveer Singh, smiled confidently from the banner. His eyes were sharp, his posture strong, his presence dominating the entire road.
Krishna slowed his bike.
He looked at the poster longer than he should have.
A faint smile formed on his tired lips—half admiration, half pain.
"If only…" he whispered.
If only he had talent.
If only he had support.
If only he had been born lucky.
He laughed softly at himself.
"What am I even thinking?" he muttered. "Dreams are for people who have something to stand on."
He accelerated again.
Krishna was forty years old.
An age when most people had families, children, stability.
But he had none.
He had grown up without parents, without relatives, without anyone to guide him. Life had never given him choices—only survival.
He failed his tenth standard exam and never went back to school. From a young age, he worked wherever he could—helper, delivery boy, office peon. He changed jobs often, not by choice, but because life forced him to.
Every month was a struggle. Rent. Food. Bills.
There was never enough.
He lived in a small rented room on the edge of the city. No television. No decorations. Just a bed, a fan, and silence.
He had no one waiting for him.
No one asking, "Did you eat?"
No one asking, "How was your day?"
Sometimes, on festivals, he would walk through crowded streets filled with laughter and lights, feeling like a stranger in his own city.
Still, he endured.
Because that's what he had always done.
The digital clock on a nearby building flashed:
11:48 PM
Almost midnight.
Almost a new year.
Krishna tightened his grip on the handlebar. The road ahead was mostly empty now. He wanted to reach home quickly, take a bath, eat something simple, and sleep.
Tomorrow would be the first day of 2026.
Maybe this year would be different.
Suddenly—
A loud horn blared.
Krishna looked up.
Headlights.
Too close.
Too fast.
A truck came rushing toward him from the opposite lane, swerving violently.
His heart skipped.
He tried to turn.
Tried to brake.
But it was too late.
BANG!
The impact threw him off the bike. His body crashed onto the hard road, sliding several feet before stopping.
Pain exploded through him like fire.
The world spun.
People screamed.
Someone shouted, "Call an ambulance!"
Another voice cried, "Oh God, he's bleeding!"
Krishna tried to breathe.
Air wouldn't come.
His chest felt crushed.
The streetlights blurred into glowing circles.
So… this is how it ends…
His thoughts drifted.
Memories rushed in—his childhood, his struggles, his loneliness.
I worked so hard…
I never hurt anyone…
Why did my life end like this?
Tears slid from the corner of his eyes.
He wanted to speak, but no sound came.
The world faded into darkness.
At first, there was nothing.
Then—warmth.
A strange, gentle warmth surrounded him.
He felt light. Weightless.
Slowly, faint sounds reached his ears.
A woman's voice.
"Oh my God… poor child…"
Another voice, older and calm.
"Bring him inside quickly. He's freezing."
Krishna tried to move.
His arms felt… small.
Too small.
Confusion washed over him.
He struggled to open his eyes.
Light flooded in.
Everything looked huge.
A woman's face appeared above him—worried, gentle, unfamiliar.
She was holding him.
"Sir," she said, turning to someone else, "I found this baby outside the gate. No parents. No note."
A deep, aged voice replied, "Bring him here."
A man stepped closer. His hair was grey, his eyes kind but sharp.
He looked at the child carefully.
"I've never seen such eyes before," he said softly. "So calm… yet so deep."
The old man sighed.
"Poor child. Abandoned on a cold night."
He paused, then said, "We will take care of him."
The woman nodded. "What should we name him, sir?"
The old man looked at the baby once more.
"Krishna," he said slowly.
"His eyes remind me of Lord Krishna—peaceful, mysterious."
The name echoed inside the tiny body.
Krishna…
The memories hit him like a wave.
His accident.
His death.
His old life.
I… died?
His heart trembled.
And I was born again…?
Tears filled his newborn eyes.
But this time, they were not tears of pain.
They were tears of disbelief.
Of fear.
And of hope.
As he drifted into sleep, one thought echoed deep within his tiny heart—
"This time… I will not waste my life."