Ayaan was always in a hurry. As a real estate broker in the chaotic streets of Mumbai, his life was a whirlwind of missed calls, broken promises, and cutthroat deals. He wasn't a "bad" man, but he was a selfish one. He ignored his wife’s birthday to close a sale and snapped at his mother for "wasting his time" with a homemade lunch.
Ayaan felt a sudden, sharp pain in his chest—the sensation of a defibrillator. He gasped, his eyes snapping open in an ICU. Ayaan was always in a hurry
"Ayaan Kapoor," CG said, not looking up from a holographic tablet. "You’re in the waiting room. You aren’t dead yet, but your body is currently arguing with a telephone pole. While the doctors work, we play a game." He ignored his wife’s birthday to close a
He saw himself as a teenager, helping an old man cross a flooded street, ruining his own expensive shoes in the process. A flurry of white pebbles poured into the jar. It was a tie. "Ayaan Kapoor," CG said, not looking up from