The morning had begun like any other.
That was how it remembered itself—ordinary, unremarkable, the kind of day that slipped past without leaving a mark. The sort of morning that never announced its importance, because it didn't know it had any.
Shen woke to the sound of distant traffic and the faint vibration of his phone against the desk. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in a pale wash of light that softened the edges of the room. Dust motes floated lazily through the air, catching the glow before drifting out of sight.
He lay still for a while, staring at the ceiling.
There was a crack above the corner of his bed, thin and crooked, like a hairline fracture frozen in time. He'd noticed it months ago. It had never grown, never spread. Somehow, that felt reassuring.
His phone buzzed again.
Shen rolled onto his side and checked the screen. Messages stacked one after another, the words familiar before he even read them.
You alive?
We're heading out.
If you're late again, I'm stealing your fries.
He smiled, the expression coming easily.
On my way, he typed.
He wasn't in a rush. He never was.
After a quick shower and a half-hearted attempt to tame his hair, Shen stepped out into the street. The city greeted him with its usual indifference. Cars crawled along the road, horns blaring in short, irritated bursts. A shopkeeper rolled up a metal shutter with a screech. Somewhere nearby, a radio played a song he half-recognized.
The air was cool, carrying the scent of dust and asphalt.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, pace unhurried. People flowed around him in both directions—students, office workers, couples arguing quietly, strangers brushing past one another without a second glance.
No one looked up.
No one ever did.
He reached the meeting spot near the intersection, where the pavement widened and the crowd thinned. They were already there.
Shubh was sitting on the curb, elbows on his knees, fiddling with his shoelace even though it wasn't undone. Mira leaned against a railing, sunlight catching in her hair as she scrolled through her phone. Jay stood a few steps away, animated as always, talking to no one in particular.
"There he is," Jay announced when he spotted Shen. "The man who treats time like a suggestion."
"You love me anyway," Shen said mildly.
Shubh snorted. "Debatable."
Mira looked up and smiled. "Morning, Shen."
He returned the smile, softer, more natural than he realized. "Morning."
They fell into step together, heading nowhere specific. That was how their days usually went—wandering streets, killing time, talking about nothing and everything. Plans were suggested and discarded within minutes. Food was debated more seriously than anything else.
Jay talked about quitting his job. Shubh argued he'd never actually do it. Mira teased them both, pointing out contradictions neither wanted to acknowledge.
Shen listened, laughed when appropriate, added comments that landed just often enough to remind them he was there. From the outside, he fit seamlessly into the rhythm of the group. From the inside, there was a faint sense of watching it all from a short distance, as though he were both participant and observer.
He didn't question it.
At some point, Mira's hand brushed against his as they walked. Neither of them pulled away. It was easy to let their fingers intertwine, easy to pretend that it meant more than it did.
They talked about the future in vague, careless terms.
"Once this year's over, I'm out," Jay declared. "New city. New job. New everything."
"Sure," Shubh said. "Just like last time."
Mira glanced at Shen. "What about you?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Haven't really thought that far."
That was true. And yet, some part of him knew this—whatever this was—wouldn't last. People drifted. Lives diverged. Even moments that felt solid eventually thinned and faded.
That didn't make them meaningless.
The street widened ahead of them, opening into a broad intersection choked with traffic. The pedestrian signal glowed red. Cars surged through in restless waves, engines humming, brakes screeching.
Jay stepped forward without waiting.
"Race you," he said, grinning over his shoulder.
"Don't be an idiot," Mira said, already moving after him.
Shubh laughed and followed, shaking his head.
Shen exhaled and jogged after them, the corners of his mouth lifting despite himself. The city noise blurred, footsteps and voices overlapping into something light and distant.
For a brief moment, everything aligned.
The signal changed.
They ran.
Then came the sound.
An engine, screaming far too loud, far too close.
Shen's head snapped to the side.
A car tore through the intersection, swerving violently, horn blaring as though sound alone could clear its path. It wasn't slowing. It wasn't stopping.
"Move!" Shen shouted.
Jay turned, eyes wide. Mira stumbled, her foot catching on the uneven pavement. Shubh froze mid-step, caught between motion and hesitation.
Shen didn't think.
He lunged forward, grabbing Mira and yanking her backward with all his strength. She cried out as she fell against him. He shoved Jay hard, sending him tumbling sideways onto the curb.
The car filled his vision.
White light. Blinding.
Impact came like a hammer.
Pain exploded through his body, sharp and absolute. The world twisted violently as he was thrown aside, his senses collapsing inward. He hit the ground hard, breath ripping from his lungs in a broken gasp.
Sound fractured into meaningless noise.
Someone screamed his name.
Hands hovered above him, trembling, afraid to touch. Faces swam in and out of focus, distorted by shock and terror.
"Shen—stay with me!"
"Call an ambulance!"
"Don't move him!"
The pain dulled, receding into something distant and heavy. His limbs felt wrong, disconnected. Each heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears, slower than the last.
Above him, the sky looked pale and unreal.
The name echoed again.
Shen.
It slid past him instead of settling. Something about it felt incorrect, like a word that never belonged to him. He tried to grasp the thought, but it slipped away, dissolving into the haze.
As the darkness deepened, a single, strange certainty surfaced through the fog.
That wasn't his name.
He couldn't remember what it was—only that it definitely wasn't Shen. The thought felt important, urgent even, but it lacked weight. It drifted, untethered, and then vanished altogether.
Pain faded.
Sound followed.
And then, mercifully, nothing.
When consciousness returned, it would be under a different sky, in a body that was not his, with a name he would come to know as Shen Yuan. But in that instant—before the darkness, before the rebirth—he knew only one thing:
The world he had known, and the life he had lived, had ended.