Chennai mornings never asked permission—they just started. Loudly.
By 8 AM, the roads were already a warzone. Autos squeezing through gaps that didn't exist, bikers acting like immortals, aunties arguing with vendors, and someone ALWAYS honking as if the world ran on horn power.
Arun Raj walked through the mess with the face of a man who had accepted that life would never give him peace.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't sad.
He was just… tired. The kind of tired that came from living the same routine for too long.
Office. Code. Bugs. Fix bugs. Pretend to smile. Repeat.
His shirt was already sticking to his back. 8 AM and humidity had already punched him in the face.
"Chennai sun is on steroids," he muttered.
The bus stop was crowded as usual. Men in formal shirts, college students laughing too loud, school kids half-asleep, and one guy selling boiled peanuts for reasons unknown.
The famous 70A bus finally appeared, groaning like it wanted to retire but life wouldn't let it.
Arun boarded, scanned his card, squeezed to the middle, and grabbed a handle above his head.
The bus stank of sweat and jasmine and someone's breakfast sambar. He didn't complain. Complaining required energy.
He preferred silence.
Not because he was shy—he just genuinely didn't like unnecessary talking.
He took out his phone.
A message from his team lead.
TL: "Client escalation today. Be ready with the logs."
Arun sighed and typed back.
Arun: "Ok."
Just "Ok." No emojis. No fake excitement. No "Sure sir!!"
People always thought he was rude. He wasn't. He just didn't have the patience to sugarcoat texts.
The bus jerked forward, throwing passengers together like vegetables in a mixie. A kid stepped on his shoe. Someone's backpack hit his shoulder. A college boy was loudly convincing his friend he could "easily get 40 lakhs package if he tried seriously".
Arun rolled his eyes.
Brother, your CGPA is 6.4. Relax.
The bus reached the next signal. Everything normal. Everything predictable.
Then it happened.
A sound—deep and metallic—echoed in the distance. Like a giant container falling somewhere.
People turned their heads.
"What sound was that?"
"Maybe construction work?"
"Bro, this early?"
Before anyone could guess further, a huge lorry from the opposite lane suddenly swerved—violently—as if the driver lost control.
It jumped over the divider.
Straight toward the bus.
Screams erupted instantly.
"AYYOOO!"
"Driver! Brake! BRAKE!"
Someone grabbed Arun's arm. Another person fell onto him.
Arun's heart hammered.
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
The bus driver shouted and slammed the brakes. The bus skidded sideways, tyres screeching.
The lorry was seconds away.
Arun felt panic rise in his throat.
Not like this. Not today. I didn't even have breakfast.
The lorry kept coming.
People cried. Someone prayed loudly. A kid clung to his mother.
Arun squeezed his eyes shut—
—and the world stopped.
Like someone pressed the pause button on existence.
The screaming cut off.
The sound of brakes vanished.
The shaking bus froze mid-jerk.
Arun opened his eyes.
His breath hitched.
"What the hell…"
The world around him was not moving.
At all.
A woman next to him remained in the exact position she was in—mouth open mid-scream, eyes wide. A baby was suspended in the air, falling, but paused halfway. A man's phone hung mid-air, slipping from his hand but frozen inches above the floor.
Arun blinked.
No change.
"What nonsense… am I hallucinating?"
He touched the man beside him.
Solid. Warm. But motionless.
He tilted his head.
Outside the window, the lorry hung in mid-air, its wheels off the ground, metal twisted, suspended inches away from smashing into the bus.
Arun let out a nervous laugh.
"Bro… what is happening?"
He turned around instinctively, as if expecting someone to answer.
Only silence.
Not normal silence.
A creepy, complete silence—like sound itself had died.
Arun's heartbeat was the only thing he heard.
He tried to move his leg. It moved normally.
He raised his hand. Normal.
He touched the bus window. Cold.
He reached out and tapped a floating water droplet from someone's bottle.
The droplet didn't move.
His skin couldn't even disturb its shape.
Okay… okay… think. It's not a dream. It's not a movie. The whole damn world is frozen. Except me.
He exhaled slowly.
Then frowned.
Why the hell am I calm? I should be peeing myself.
But he wasn't calm emotionally—he was too confused to feel anything properly.
He slowly squeezed his way through the frozen passengers. Tried not to touch too many people. Something about touching frozen humans felt… wrong.
He pushed the bus door open. It responded normally, hinges squeaking.
He stepped outside.
Chennai traffic—normally the loudest creature on earth—was a silent museum.
A biker frozen mid-lean.
A dog paused mid-bark.
A bird stuck mid-flap.
A pedestrian suspended in the middle of stepping over a pothole.
Time had not slowed.
It had completely stopped.
Arun swallowed.
"This is crazy… what did I eat last night?"
He walked toward the lorry. Each step echoed too loudly.
He pressed his hand against the lorry's bumper.
It was like pushing a wall glued to reality. The vehicle didn't budge. He pushed harder. His muscles strained. A sharp pain shot up his arm.
He winced.
Okay so super strength is not included. Noted.
He took a step back.
His mind was racing—not with philosophical questions, but Indian-style practical ones.
First of all, how long will this last?
Second, how the hell did this happen?
Third… if this is a superpower… does that mean I'm becoming some kind of… superhero? No thanks. Those guys don't get paid enough.
He turned around and walked back toward the bus.
Halfway there—
A loud crash hit his ears.
Time resumed.
The lorry completed its movement, smashing into the DIVIDER instead of the bus.
People screamed again. The baby finally fell into its mother's arms. The man's phone clattered to the floor.
The bus jerked as the driver regained control.
Everyone was shaken.
Panicking.
Thanking gods.
Crying.
Calling relatives.
Arun froze—not in time, but in shock.
He had moved the bus by just a few degrees earlier. Just a tiny push against one of the handrails while time was frozen. He didn't think it would matter.
But it changed everything.
The lorry missed the bus by less than a meter.
A miracle.
People clapped for the driver.
Someone said, "God saved us today."
Arun sat down quietly in a seat someone had vacated while fainting.
He stared at his hands.
His heart thumped.
I stopped time.
No matter how absurd it sounded, it was the only explanation.
He stared out the window at the lorry crash site.
His brain whispered the most dangerous, most honest thought:
If this is real… my entire life just changed.
A slow, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Not excitement.
Not joy.
A mixture of disbelief, curiosity… and something else.
What all can I do with this?
He didn't say it aloud, but the thought was loud in his mind.
The bus eventually crawled forward, avoiding debris. People around him kept talking about how miraculous the escape was.
Arun ignored them.
His thoughts were spiraling.
How did it trigger? Fear? Instinct? Pure panic?
Or did I just want the world to stop?
He replayed the moment in his head.
The lorry.
The panic.
The helplessness.
The desperate wish for the entire situation to freeze.
And then—time obeyed.
He rubbed his face.
"This is insane," he whispered.
But a part of him—one he never acknowledged—felt something else.
Excitement.
Life had always felt like a closed box. Predictable. Fixed. A straight road with no turns.
Now suddenly a door had opened.
Not a small door.
A massive one.
One that led to possibilities he had never even dreamed of.
Arun wasn't a saint.
He wasn't selfless.
He wasn't going to pretend he got this power to "save people."
He barely saved himself on most days.
But now?
Now he had something the entire world didn't.
Time. My time. Everyone else's time.
The bus neared his stop.
He stood up slowly, holding the rail—not for balance, but because his fingers were trembling a little.
Not from fear.
From the weight of the realization.
As he stepped off the bus, the sun hit his face again, bright and unforgiving.
But for the first time ever, Arun felt like the world was smaller than him.
Much smaller.
He looked at his hand once more.
Just a simple hand.
But he now knew one thing for sure:
This hand can stop the world.
He let out a breath and muttered to himself:
"…dai, what a mess I've gotten into."
But even as he said it, he couldn't stop the smile forming on his lips.