The insistent, grating trill of his phone alarm, a generic factory preset, ripped Kai from the fleeting peace of a half-forgotten dream. It was 6:00 AM. Always 6:00 AM. Even on Sundays, his internal clock, a tyrannical beast forged in the fires of corporate deadlines and commuter trains, would nudge him awake, a perverse reminder of the grind. He slapped blindly at the offending device, its cheap plastic protesting against his frustrated thwack. Silence. For precisely three seconds. Then, a new, equally obnoxious buzz began, a relentless vibration against the bedside table, signalling a new message. It was his mother. Of course. "Utho, beta. Doodhwala will be here any minute. And don't forget the bills."
Kai groaned, a sound muffled by the thin pillow. His room, a cramped, slightly damp cube in a three-BHK apartment in the heart of Mumbai's perpetual urban sprawl, offered little solace. The morning light, a weak, bruised yellow, struggled to penetrate the grimy windowpane, filtered by the exhaust fumes of a million vehicles already jostling on the arterial road outside. The distant cacophony of horns, street vendors, and the occasional sharp bark of a stray dog was the city's unceasing lullaby, a symphony of chaos he'd learnt to ignore, or at least, tune out.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet finding the familiar cool, rough texture of the tiled floor. His pyjamas, once a vibrant blue, were now faded and stretched, like most things in his life. He shuffled to the bathroom, brushing past a stack of old newspapers and a perpetually half-packed laundry bag. The mirror, streaked with toothpaste residue, reflected a tired, thirty-year-old face. Dark circles under his eyes, a faint stubble that he'd shave only if the office demanded it, and a perpetually bewildered expression that seemed to ask, "Is this all there is?"
A quick splash of cold water, a perfunctory brush, and he was out, greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed chai and the clatter of steel utensils from the kitchen. His mother, a formidable woman with prematurely silvering hair pulled back in a tight bun, was already orchestrating the morning chaos. His father, lost behind the broadsheet of The Times of India, mumbled something about the fluctuating Sensex. This was his world. Predictable. Safe. Suffocating.
Breakfast was a hurried affair of poha and garam chai. His mother chided him about his posture, his father about his career prospects. "Sharma-ji's son just got a promotion at that American company, Kai. What are you doing with your life?" the unspoken question hung heavy in the humid air, a constant, nagging presence. Kai mumbled noncommittally, stirring his tea, the sweet, milky concoction the only comfort in the morning ritual. He worked as a junior analyst at a mid-tier accounting firm. "Junior" at thirty, after eight years. The salary was decent enough to contribute to the household, pay his phone bill, and occasionally splurge on a new paperback fantasy novel, but not enough to dream. Not truly.
The commute was, as always, an exercise in human endurance. The local train, packed to the brim, felt like a sardine can on wheels. Bodies pressed against bodies, the collective sweat and frustration forming a palpable, stifling cloud. Kai, a master of the art of standing gracefully in motion, found his usual spot by the door, half-listening to the animated debates about politics and cricket. He clutched his worn backpack, inside which lay his escape: a dog-eared copy of "The Ascendant King," a generic but comforting fantasy epic. He pictured himself as the hero, slaying dragons, mastering ancient magic, carving out his destiny in a world of endless possibilities. Unlike his own, where the only dragon to slay was the monthly Excel sheet, and the only magic was making his salary last till the next pay cheque.
He disembarked at Church gate, joining the river of humanity flowing towards the concrete jungle of Nariman Point. The office building, a soulless glass-and-steel monolith, loomed over him, a monument to ambition that wasn't his. His cubicle, 4B, was a beige prison. The fluorescent lights hummed with a monotonous drone, the air conditioning blew stale, recycled air, and the incessant click-clack of keyboards was the soundtrack to his unravelling sanity. His work was mind-numbingly repetitive: data entry, cross-referencing, preparing reports no one truly read. His boss, Mr. Chopra, a rotund man with a perpetually furrowed brow and an uncanny ability to find fault, often hovered, delivering terse instructions or passive-aggressive remarks about his "lack of drive."
"Kai! That Smith & Sons report! Is it done or are you still dreaming about your next chai break?" Mr. Chopra's voice, a gravelly rasp, cut through his attempt at focusing.
"Almost done, sir. Just double-checking the figures," Kai replied, forcing a smile. His fingers danced across the keyboard, a practiced blur, while his mind drifted. He imagined the spreadsheets transforming into ancient runic tablets, the columns of numbers becoming powerful spells. He closed his eyes for a split second, envisioning himself as a grand mage, not a glorified calculator.
The day dragged on, an interminable sequence of numbers and caffeine. Lunch was a hastily consumed aloo paratha from the office canteen, eaten at his desk while he scrolled through a webnovel on his phone – another isekai tale, naturally, about an ordinary hero gaining overpowered abilities in a fantasy world. If only, he thought, a familiar pang of longing twisting in his gut. If only I could just… escape.
As the evening approached, the sky outside the office window began to paint itself in hues of orange and purple, a fleeting moment of beauty before the urban night took over. He packed up, ignoring Mr. Chopra's parting shot about "working smarter, not harder." The walk to the train station was slightly less crowded, but the exhaustion was deeper. His shoulders ached, his eyes burned, and his mind felt like a scrambled mess of numbers and forgotten dreams.
He found a relatively less crowded compartment on the return train, managing to snag a window seat. The city lights began to twinkle, a million tiny stars trying to compete with the oppressive gloom of the concrete. He leaned his head against the cool glass, watching the blur of slums and high-rises, the endless, relentless pulse of Mumbai. He felt a deep, profound weariness. Not just physical, but soul-deep. He was thirty. What had he achieved? What was he aiming for? A bigger cubicle? A slightly less condescending boss? The thought made him feel hollow.
Then it happened.
It was subtle at first. A flicker. In the corner of his eye, where the train tracks met the darkening horizon, there was a shimmer. Not heat haze, not city lights. Something else. A distortion in the air, like looking through warped glass. He blinked, rubbing his eyes. It was gone. Must be fatigue, he dismissed.
But then, it returned. This time, stronger. A ripple, like water disturbed, spreading across the very fabric of the evening sky. The lights of the city seemed to waver, their steady glow momentarily blurring, stretching, then snapping back into place. A faint hum, too low to be heard, too profound to be ignored, resonated through his bones. It felt like the world was breathing, a deep, resonant intake of breath.
Other passengers began to notice. Muffled gasps. Fingers pointing. An old woman clutching her dupatta tighter, muttering prayers. A young man, engrossed in his phone, suddenly looked up, his eyes wide with disbelief. The usual train chatter died down, replaced by a tense, nervous silence. The hum intensified, vibrating through the metal of the train, through the soles of Kai's worn shoes, up his spine.
The shimmer grew, expanding from a localized distortion into a vast, swirling vortex of light and shadow, directly over the city. It pulsed, a blinding, ethereal beacon, drawing every eye. It wasn't a natural phenomenon. This was… impossible. Kai's heart hammered against his ribs. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through his fatigue. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't fantasy. This was real.
A sudden, jarring lurch. The train screeched, sparks flying from the wheels as the brakes locked up. Passengers were thrown forward, cries of alarm filling the carriage. Kai was slammed against the window, his head thudding against the glass. The shimmer outside flared, engulfing everything. It was no longer a distant phenomenon; it was right there, outside his window, invading his space, sucking in the light, the sound, the very air.
The hum became a roar, an all-consuming sonic assault that vibrated through every cell of his body. Colours swirled, not just light but pure, raw energy. He felt a profound sense of pull. Like every atom of his being was being stretched, compressed, and pulled in a direction he couldn't comprehend. His vision blurred, not from tears, but from the overwhelming intensity of the light. The faces of the passengers, etched with terror, dissolved into streaks of colour. The train, the city, the very world he knew – it all began to fragment, to unravel.
He heard screams, then his own voice, a ragged gasp. He tried to resist, to hold onto something, anything, but there was nothing left to grip. The world was gone. The noise became deafening, then absolute silence. The light was blinding, then absolute darkness.
He felt himself spinning, weightless, unmoored. A sensation of pure, cold void. Not emptiness, but the absence of everything. No up, no down, no left, no right. No body, no mind, just a fleeting consciousness, a pinpoint of awareness caught in an infinite, formless drift. His thoughts, once a chaotic symphony of numbers and mundane worries, dissolved. There was only the sensation of being unmade, of reality itself ceasing to exist around him. The last thing he felt was a profound, chilling sense of aloneness, utterly adrift in an abyss of nothingness.
Then, even that faded. The last flicker of awareness extinguished. The Fade to Black was complete.