The sun was setting behind the slums, casting a soft orange glow over the rows of tiny, mismatched rooftops.The air smelled of evening rain and boiling rice.Inside their cramped home, the walls were stained, but the floor was swept. The fan still creaked, but it worked.
And in the middle of it all stood a woman—bent but unbroken.
She hummed an old song as she folded clothes, her saree faded and her back aching.But when she turned and saw Ishaan walk in, her tired eyes lit up.
"You're home early," she smiled. "No fever today, I hope?"
He shook his head and managed a small smile."No fever. Just… tired."
She cupped his face in her rough, worn hands—the kind of hands that had washed hundreds of floors, cleaned dozens of homes… but had never touched gold or perfume.
"You've always been tired, beta," she whispered. "From the day you were born, life kept testing you. But you're still here. That means something."
Ishaan swallowed hard.Her warmth felt like a shield. One he never had in his first life.There, people wanted his money. His name.But no one had ever held his face and asked him if he was tired.
She handed him a steel plate.Simple rice, a little dal, and a single slice of onion.
He sat on the floor beside her, the silence between them soft.Not heavy.Not lonely.Just quiet. Together.
"Ma," he said softly, "if someone… made a lot of mistakes in their life… do they still get another chance?"
She looked at him, surprised by the sudden question.But she answered gently, "We all get chances, Ishaan. Not always in the way we expect. Sometimes, life breaks us… just so we can rebuild stronger."
He nodded, eyes stinging.
That night, as the world outside buzzed with the chaos of traffic and television sets, Ishaan sat under the flickering bulb, notebook open.
He didn't write business plans or profit models like before.This time, he wrote something else:
"My mother has nothing.Yet she gives me everything.Her hands don't hold diamonds.But they carry the weight of my world."
"In my first life, I ignored the meaning of family.I won't make that mistake again."
He looked over at her as she slept on the floor beside him, wrapped in an old shawl, her hand resting near his.
For the first time in years, Aarav felt love. Not admiration. Not desire. Not ambition. Just… love.
Outside, the wind howled.The world was harsh.But inside this tiny room, something powerful was born—not just a new man…But a new resolve.
"I'll rise again—not alone this time, but for her.For the boy whose body I now wear.For the life I wasted… and the one I've been gifted."