Chapter 0 The Death

A man in his mid-twenties stepped out of a government building, the evening light reflecting softly in his eyes.

He was smiling—quietly, deeply.

“Finally…” he exhaled. “My model got selected for the new City Hall.”

His name was Arya Sharma, a city planner.

After years of struggle, his design—his vision—had been accepted. For the first time in a long while, the world felt… right.

“A good day,” he murmured to himself, almost disbelieving it.

He hailed a taxi.

—

Minutes later, he stood outside his apartment, unlocking the door.

The familiar click echoed softly.

“Let’s make something—” he paused, then smiled faintly. “No… let’s order.”

He pulled out his phone.

“What should I get… Shahi Paneer? Malai Kofta? Dum Aloo… or Dal Makhni…”

A brief silence.

“Alright. Shahi Paneer, Dal Makhni, Rumali Roti… Fruit Raita… and Kaju Katli.”

A small celebration.

He deserved that.

—

An hour later, the doorbell rang.

Arya walked over and opened the door.

A delivery boy stood outside, face partially covered with a cloth, a large black bag slung over his shoulder.

“Sir… your order,” he said, voice slightly hoarse.

Arya took the package.

“Thanks.”

The delivery boy hesitated.

“Sir… can I get a glass of water?”

“Sure,” Arya replied casually, turning inside.

As he walked toward the kitchen, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

Mr. Dixit

Arya frowned slightly, then picked up.

“Hello, Mr. Dixit.”

“Arya,” came the voice, smooth but cold. “What are you doing right now?”

“Just about to eat.”

“Good. Then listen carefully. You want to earn some money?”

Arya stayed silent.

“Adjust the project cost,” Dixit continued. “Raise it to a hundred million.”

Arya stopped walking.

“…The actual cost is forty million.”

“I’m aware.”

“That’s more than double.”

“I’ll give you three million.”

Arya’s expression hardened.

“No.”

A pause.

“Five million.”

“No.”

“Ten.”

“No.”

The silence on the other end grew heavier.

Then—

“Fifteen million.”

Arya let out a slow breath.

“Mr. Dixit… my phone records calls automatically.”

A beat.

“I suggest you be careful with what you say next.”

Another pause.

“I’m reporting this.”

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then Dixit spoke again—calm, almost amused.

“Arya… you’ve left me with no choice.”

A chill ran down his spine.

“What happens next… will be your responsibility.”

The call ended.

—

A sharp pain tore through his abdomen.

Arya froze.

For a split second, his mind refused to understand.

Then he looked down.

Blood.

A blade protruded from his stomach.

His breath hitched.

Before he could react—

The knife was pulled out.

The pain exploded.

His body trembled violently as he tried to scream—but a cloth was forced into his mouth, choking the sound.

His vision blurred.

He turned his head—

The delivery boy stood behind him.

Silent.

Cold.

Holding the bloodied knife.

The man picked up Arya’s phone and dialed.

“Sir. It’s done.”

A pause.

“Yes.”

He listened, then spoke again.

“There are gas cylinders nearby. This could take the entire building down.”

Another pause.

“…Understood.”

He ended the call.

Then, without a word, he moved through the apartment—opening valves, releasing gas.

The sharp smell began to spread.

He placed a small device near the stove.

A timer lit up.

[5:00]

Without looking back, he walked out.

—

Arya lay on the floor, trembling.

Each breath burned.

Each second stretched.

His thoughts—scattered, breaking—

“Honesty is the best policy…”

A bitter laugh echoed in his mind.

“Never harm anyone…”

His vision dimmed.

“A good man will never suffer…”

Silence.

Then—

“…All lies.”

His fingers twitched weakly.

Blood pooled beneath him.

“The honest suffer.”

“The weak suffer.”

His breathing grew shallow.

“The powerful… don’t.”

The smell of gas thickened.

—

[3:47]

In the next apartment, a college girl studied under a dim lamp.

—

[3:21]

A family of five sat together, sharing dinner and laughter.

—

[2:54]

A mother gently rocked her infant, whispering softly.

—

[2:01]

A child struggled with his homework, frowning in concentration.

—

[1:37]

On the top floor, a group of girls danced, music playing softly—

Hamari Adhoori Kahani…

—

[0:57]

Children lay on the terrace, pointing at the stars.

—

[0:32]

The girl next door paused.

“…Is that gas?”

—

Arya’s eyes barely remained open.

“So… this is the end…”

His lips trembled faintly.

“Mom… Dad…”

A tear slid down.

“I’m coming…”

A pause.

“…No.”

A hollow breath.

“Maybe not.”

His vision darkened.

“After all… I’m responsible…”

“…for all of this…”

—

[0:03]
[0:02]
[0:01]

—

[0:00]

—

A spark.

A flash.

Then—

Explosion.

The apartment erupted.

The shockwave tore through walls, igniting nearby gas cylinders.

One after another—

Explosions chained together.

Fire consumed everything.

Within minutes—

The entire building collapsed.

—

Arya Sharma.

The girl next door.

The family of five.

The mother and her infant.

The dancing girls.

The children under the stars.

And hundreds more—

All gone.

Reduced to ash.

—

An accident, they would call it.

—

But in his final moment…

Arya understood something the world had never taught him.

—

“Power decides who lives… and who is erased.”

—

Next Chapter: The New Life