Day 1
Hi.
My name is Bigin.
I am a simple man.
I don't remember my parents. I don't even remember what their faces might have looked like. The first thing I remember is a white ceiling with cracks shaped like rivers, and the smell of boiled rice mixed with medicine. That was the orphanage.
People say children forget pain easily. I don't think that's true. We just learn how to live with it quietly.
The orphanage was old. The walls peeled. The windows whistled when the wind came in at night. We slept on thin mattresses laid side by side like fallen dominoes. In winter, we shared blankets. In summer, we shared sweat and silence.
I learned early not to cry loudly. Loud cries brought annoyance. Quiet ones were ignored.
That suited me.
---
Year 10
I met her when I was eight.
She was sitting alone in the classroom, holding a torn book upside down. She didn't know how to read it,it was a Sanskrit book, but she pretended she did. When I told her the book was upside down, she glared at me like I had insulted her entire bloodline.
That was the first time she spoke to me.
From that day on, we sat together during meals. We studied together when the caretaker wasn't yelling in orphanage. When other kids fought over food, we shared. When someone cried at night, we listened in silence.
She was warm. Not physically—emotionally. Being near her made the orphanage feel smaller. Safer.
---
Year 13
School started again.
We walked together every day. Same uniforms. Same worn shoes. Same dust-covered road. I was never good at studies, but she was. She learned fast. Faster than anyone else.
When teachers praised her, I felt proud. When she struggled, I stayed up late trying to understand the lessons so I could explain them to her. Sometimes I didn't understand either, but I tried anyway.
Trying mattered.
---
Year 17
She confessed to me on a rainy afternoon.
It wasn't dramatic. No flowers. No tears.
She just said, "I like you. I think… I always have."
That day became the happiest day of my life.
From that moment on, I felt responsible for her. Not because she asked—because I wanted to. I wanted to protect her smile. I wanted to make sure she never felt alone again.
So I made a decision.
I left school.
---
Year 18
I started working.
Small jobs at first. Carrying boxes. Cleaning shops. Running errands. The money was little, but it was enough to buy her books. Enough to pay school fees. Enough to make sure she ate properly.
At night, when she fell asleep over her textbooks, I read them beside her. I memorized lessons I never officially learned. I did her homework when she was too tired to finish.
We were in the same class on paper.
In reality, we were worlds apart.
But I was happy.
---
Year 21
My body changed.
I used to be fat as a kid. Soft. Slow. That disappeared. Work burned it all away. What remained was bone, sinew, and stubbornness. My hands grew rough. My back ached constantly. My face lost whatever softness it once had.
People stopped calling me "kid."
They started calling me "labor."
---
Construction Site — ABP Construction
The site smelled like dust, sweat, and wet cement.
The sun was merciless. The ground was unforgiving. The work never ended.
I lifted, carried, mixed, and hauled. Every day felt the same. My body moved even when my mind was tired.
"Bigin!"
"Bigin, faster!"
"Bigin, don't slack!"
Mr. Luno was our head supervisor.
At first, he was kind. He taught me how to carry weight without breaking my back. He showed me how to avoid injuries. He even shared food once.
But something changed.
These days, his eyes lingered on me longer than necessary. His orders were always heavier, harsher. If something went wrong, it was my fault. If someone slowed down, I was punished.
I didn't argue.
Arguing costs jobs.
---
Today
"Bigin, bring that cement bag here."
His voice cut through the noise.
I turned and saw the bag beside me. Heavy. Probably heavier than it should've been. My arms screamed in protest as I lifted it, but I carried it anyway.
I dropped it where he pointed.
"Chewing gum again?" he muttered.
I walked away before he could say more. I needed air. I needed a second to breathe like a human.
That's when I saw her.
She stood across the road, just beyond the dust and noise of the construction site, like a scene torn from a different world. For a second, I thought my eyes were lying to me. I blinked once. Then again.
It was really her.
Aria.
She was of average height, standing around five feet five inches, but there was something about the way she carried herself that made her seem taller. Her frame was slender, balanced—not fragile, not weak. There was a quiet strength in her posture, the kind that came from a life where survival was no longer a daily concern.
Her skin held a healthy, natural glow. Not the pale exhaustion of orphanage days. Not the dullness of nights spent worrying about tomorrow. It was the glow of someone who slept peacefully, who ate well, who lived without fear. The kind of glow I had unknowingly paid for with years of my life.
Her hazel eyes caught the sunlight when she turned her head. I knew those eyes. I had watched them narrow in concentration over textbooks, soften in laughter, fill with tears she tried to hide. They were framed by naturally arched eyebrows that always made her expressions vivid—too honest for her own good, I once thought.
Her nose was delicately shaped, fitting her face perfectly, unchanged from the girl I remembered. Small silver stud earrings glinted against her ears, subtle, elegant. I didn't remember buying those.
That was the girl I loved.
The girl I still loved.
But she wasn't alone.
A man stood beside her.
Tall. Well-dressed. Clean. His clothes were crisp, untouched by dust or sweat. His hair was neatly styled. His posture relaxed, confident. He leaned slightly toward her as they talked, close enough that strangers might mistake them for a couple.
My chest tightened.
A teacher? I wondered.
She was in college now. It wasn't strange for her to be with someone older. Professors guided students all the time. Mentors existed. I told myself not to imagine things. Not to poison my own heart.
But something felt wrong.
The way she smiled.
That smile wasn't polite. It wasn't distant. It wasn't the smile she gave shopkeepers or neighbors.
It was intimate.
My body moved before my mind could catch up.
I crossed the road, ignoring the shouting behind me, the heat, the pain in my muscles. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. They were walking now, turning into a narrow alley between two buildings.
"No," I muttered. "Wait."
I broke into a run.
The alley was dim, shadowed, cool compared to the open street. I slowed instinctively, my footsteps light, my breath held. Something told me not to reveal myself yet. Something deep inside whispered that once I crossed a certain line, there would be no going back.
I reached the corner.
And I saw it.
Aria's back pressed against the wall. Her books slipped from her hands and fell to the ground. The man stepped closer, his hand braced beside her head.
Then he kissed her.
Not hesitantly.
Not awkwardly.
Like it was natural.
Like it had happened before.
The world vanished.
It felt like the ground beneath my feet collapsed, like I was falling endlessly from a great height. My ears rang. My vision blurred. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
She never kissed me.
Not once.
She never hugged me.
Not because she didn't want to—but because I never forced her. I told myself love didn't need proof. That waiting was respect. That patience meant devotion.
And she—
My thoughts shattered.
I couldn't think anymore.
My mind went blank.
That's when I heard their voices.
I don't know how long I stood there. Seconds. Minutes. A lifetime. Their words reached me as if through water.
"You still didn't break up with him?" the man asked.
His voice was calm. Casual. Almost bored.
Aria laughed softly.
"You know our work and dream have already been fulfilled," the man continued. "With his money, we got the shares. We don't need him anymore."
My breath caught.
"Till these days, he thought all his money was going for your studies," the man said. "But in reality, he was working so we could steal it. But now…?"
Aria's voice followed, light and amused.
"We don't need him anymore."
Each word struck like a hammer.
"But it is fun," she added. "Seeing him struggle. Watching him break."
My knees almost gave out.
"He thought I would be his wife in the future," she said, laughing again. "What a dream."
Something inside me cracked.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, final fracture.
I turned away before they could see me.
I don't remember how I got back to the construction site. My body moved on its own. I lifted bags. I mixed cement. I followed orders. My hands worked like machines while my heart felt like it had been hollowed out.
I didn't eat.
I didn't drink.
I didn't speak.
The sun sank slowly into the horizon, painting the sky in cruel shades of orange and red. When work ended, I didn't go home.
I climbed.
Up the unfinished building. Past the scaffolding. Past the warning signs. To the very top.
The wind was cold.
The city stretched out below me, alive and uncaring. People laughed somewhere. Cars passed. Lights flickered on.
I sat at the edge.
My legs dangled over nothing.
"God," I whispered. "Why did you give me life?"
My voice trembled.
"I believed in you," I said softly. "Mahadev… I really did."
The wind answered.
"What am I supposed to do now?"
There was no answer.
Then—
A sudden force struck my back.
I lurched forward.
For a split second, I thought I might regain balance. My hands clawed at empty air.
Then there was nothing.
No pain.
No fear.
Just falling.
And then—
Darkness.
I died.