Veer wasn't the same boy anymore.
Months of disciplined workouts, early mornings, cold showers, and clean meals had slowly carved changes into his body. His shoulders were broader now. His jawline was starting to cut sharper angles in the mirror. His arms had that lean definition you only got from drills—push-ups at dawn, kicks on wet grass, hours of shadowboxing when nobody was watching.
He still looked young—but not clueless.
Now he moved differently. Like someone carrying a quiet weight under his skin.
It wasn't the muscle. It was the heaviness in his eyes.
Even Suhana noticed it.
Sometimes she'd catch his wrist in the middle of a conversation, press her fingers softly against his forearm, teasing him with a grin.
"Veer… are you training for an action movie or something?" she'd whisper, voice low, her eyes playful. "Why so serious these days?"
Veer would smile back, smooth as ever, shifting the topic. He'd make some joke, say something light, maybe compliment her dress just to change the mood.
But inside?
Inside, he wasn't thinking about movie stunts or camera angles.
He was thinking of real threats.
People who'd kill without warning. Guns that didn't fire blanks. Knives that didn't retract after a scene was over.
And Suhana had no idea.
Then there was Diya, his tuition teacher. Older, sharp-eyed, strict—but human.
Sometimes, when Veer gave the right answer—especially the difficult ones—he'd catch Diya looking at him a second too long. Not in a romantic way. Not really. More like… she was surprised by him. As if she couldn't decide whether he was a sharp student or something more dangerous.
Veer didn't know what to do with that look.
So he ignored it.
Most days, anyway.
But his sister, Sonia, wasn't stupid.
She saw right through him.
That night, the house felt emptier than usual. Their mother was away on a business trip in Delhi. The TV in the corner played some crime news on low volume, like background noise that refused to stop.
"Underworld activity is on the rise—again. Names like Gani Bhai, Dilip Topi, and other unknown shooters are being linked to recent cases…"
The usual script. The cops would promise action, shake their heads, and by next week the same faces would be in the news again.
Veer and Sonia sat at the dining table, eating dinner under the cold flicker of the screen.
Sonia pushed her rice around, her spoon tracing little circles on the plate.
Finally, she spoke.
"Bhai…" she said softly, eyes locked on her food, "can I ask you something?"
Veer didn't look up.
"Hmm?"
"What's going on between you and Diya ma'am?"
That made his spoon freeze in mid-air.
His face didn't change—but something in his body tensed.
"What?" he said, casual, keeping his voice steady.
Sonia looked at him, half-teasing, half-serious.
"Oh, come on. Don't act dumb." She gave a small smile, but her eyes stayed sharp. "With Suhana you're relaxed. But with Diya ma'am? You sit straight. You answer like a robot. And that stupid soft smile you do? You only use that when you're trying to impress someone."
Veer sighed. Picked up his water glass. Took a slow sip.
"You're reading too much into it," he said calmly. "She's my teacher. I respect her. That's all."
Sonia leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.
"Respect?" She raised an eyebrow. "Or too much respect?"
Veer looked at her then, his eyes soft but tired.
"Sonia," he said, voice low. "I don't mix things up. She's older. She's helping me study. That's all. Stop writing romance novels in your head."
She laughed, but it wasn't her usual playful laugh. It was lighter, forced. Like she wanted to believe him but couldn't fully.
Still, she let it go—for now.
Later that night, Veer sat alone in his room, lights dim, curtains half-open to the Mumbai skyline.
The city breathed outside.
Honks. Sirens. Crickets. Airplanes overhead. The sounds of a world that kept moving, no matter what.
The news still echoed faintly from the living room:
"Underworld activity rising. Gani Bhai's name comes up again, along with reports of beggar rackets run by unknown criminal elements. Police say they are 'working on it.' No arrests have been made yet."
Veer leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, mind running through the list.
Pieces on the Board
Kamal Haasan—or at least a guy who looked exactly like him. Not an actor here. This version was sharper, colder, like someone trained in special ops. Coincidence? Or is the butterfly effect messing with people's lives in this world?
Dev Patel—he saw a poster of him, fists up, fighting in some underground ring. Not the Hollywood guy but the monkey man. This Dev hadn't taken his revenge on that cop yet. Veer wondered if he should help him—or leave him to his path.
Arjun—ambitious, clever, dangerous. The type of guy who'd offer you a handshake with one hand while hiding a knife in the other. Veer was watching him closely, but he knew better than to trust men like Arjun. They'd sell you out in a heartbeat if it meant moving up faster.
Radhe—the man the streets whispered about. This Radhe was real. An undercover cop playing both sides of the game. Getting close to the gangs. Beating up thugs one day, cutting deals with them the next. Veer wasn't sure whose side Radhe was really on anymore.
Dilip Topi—the worst of them.the real target veer wants to eliminate because he is the boss of raja . He controlled street beggars, ran rackets that made Veer's stomach twist. Breaking children's legs to make them more "sympathetic." Selling misery like it was a business plan. Veer wanted to burn Dilip's operation to the ground—but he wasn't strong enough yet. Not yet.
His chest tightened.He started feeling tired
Veer closed his eyes.
And then it happened.
The Void.
Not sleep.
Not a dream.
Just blackness.
No sound. No body. No smell. No breath. No heartbeat.
Just floating. Trapped.
Like he was stuck between two lives.
Panic started to claw at his throat.
Was he dying?
Was this… the gap between worlds again?
Was he going to wake up somewhere else?
Or nowhere at all?
Then—
"IDIOT! Wake up!"
A slap hit his shoulder, sharp.
Veer's eyes snapped open. His chest heaved. Sweat stuck his T-shirt to his back.
He was back.
In his room.
Mumbai.
Here.
Sonia stood over him, annoyed.
"What the hell?" she frowned. "Didn't you say you're waking up early today? 'Discipline is life,' right? Then get up, Dumbo."
She grabbed her bag.
"I'm going to my friend's house. See you later, muscle boy."
Veer sat there quietly, breathing hard.
His hands trembled for a second before he clenched them into fists.
Was that just a nightmare?
Or something more?
That blank space—the total silence—still echoed somewhere deep in his chest. Like a warning. Like a crack in the universe no one else could see.
One thing was clear:
His life wasn't normal anymore.
And whatever was coming next…
He wasn't ready for it yet.