ch-2
Chapter 2: The Voice Beyond
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A weightless void enveloped Karan, shrouding him in an inky blackness so thick that it felt like the end of everything. There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above his head—just an unending emptiness. He floated there, disoriented and numb. His memories blurred into a haze of flashing images—familiar faces, unfinished scripts, fleeting moments of joy and despair—before everything faded into a still, silent void.
"Do you have any regrets?" a voice echoed through the darkness.
The sound was neither soft nor loud, yet it resonated deep within him, reverberating in the emptiness like ripples on still water. It was as if the void itself had spoken. Karan tried to look around, but his body refused to respond. He felt like a formless consciousness adrift in the abyss. He didn't know where he was or who—no, what—was speaking to him. Yet, strangely, he found himself compelled to answer.
"Yes…" The word escaped him before he could think. "I regret not getting any recognition for my work. All those years of dedication, the passion I poured into every word I wrote—none of it mattered. No one ever knew me. I was just a shadow, a ghost behind someone else's success."
He wasn't sure why he was speaking so freely, as if the voice stripped away all his defenses, reaching into the core of his being and drawing out truths he hadn't even realized were buried so deep.
"Do you believe in second chances?" the voice asked again, its tone neither curious nor indifferent, but carrying a weight that seemed to hang in the void.
Karan thought for a moment. "I do," he whispered, "but I've never been lucky enough to get one." He couldn't understand why he was confessing so much to a disembodied voice in an endless void. Why did it matter? And why did he feel an inexplicable urge to keep answering?
"Who… who are you?" he asked, feeling a flicker of something—a trace of fear or perhaps curiosity—forming within the numbness. He wanted to know, to see, to understand.
"You are in the presence of something beyond your comprehension," the voice replied, devoid of any emotion. "I am here only to ask questions, nothing more."
Karan swallowed—or at least he felt like he did. The voice wasn't ordinary; he could sense it now. It was not human, not bound by the physical world he knew. But what did that mean? Where was he? Was he… dead?
Gathering his courage, he spoke again, his voice steady this time. "Will you give me a second chance?"
A heavy silence followed, one that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. The void thickened around him, pressing down as if it, too, were waiting for the voice's response. Karan's non-existent heart pounded in the nothingness, a sensation both alien and oddly familiar.
"I cannot give you a second chance in that world," the voice finally answered, its tone carrying a finality that sent a chill through Karan's essence. "You are already dead in that reality."
The words struck Karan like a hammer. Dead. The realization sank in, pulling him down into a pit of despair. There was no going back. No chance to change anything. He was nothing but a lost soul drifting in a void that had no end.
All the hope he had clung to, the dreams that kept him going, seemed to shatter in that moment, splintering into countless pieces that scattered into the darkness. He had always believed that if he tried hard enough, something good would happen. That his struggles would mean something in the end. But now… it all seemed so meaningless.
Just as he felt himself crumbling into the darkness, the voice spoke again, its tone shifting slightly—was that… a hint of something? Pity? Compassion?
"But," it continued, "I can offer you a different path. I can make you reborn in an alternate world, one similar to the one you came from but with a twist. This world has advanced technology, beyond what you've known, but its cultural development has been slow. It values the things you cherished—creativity, dedication, and respect for the people behind the stories."
Karan hesitated. A chance…? He hadn't expected this. His thoughts raced. An alternate world… a place where he could start over, where scriptwriters like him were respected and valued. It sounded like a dream, a far-fetched fantasy. But hadn't his entire life been spent dreaming of such a chance? What did he have to lose now?
"Yes," he whispered, then repeated with more conviction. "Yes, I want to go."
"As you wish."
The darkness around him shifted, rippling like a disturbed pond. And then, suddenly, a sharp pain shot through him. It wasn't physical pain—he had no body—but a sensation that burned through his very soul, tearing and twisting until he thought he would be ripped apart.
"Remember," the voice echoed faintly, growing distant, "this is your only chance. Make it count."
The world spun. Light flared around him, blinding and brilliant, and then—
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Karan opened his eyes, squinting against the bright overhead lights. He blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Everything was blurry, unfocused. Shapes and colors melded together, forming a strange, alien landscape.
He tried to move but found his limbs small, weak, uncoordinated. Panic surged through him. He tried to speak, but only incoherent babbles escaped his lips. He turned his head, his vision slowly sharpening. He saw unfamiliar faces—kind eyes and gentle smiles looking down at him.
The language they spoke was not Hindi, nor any other Indian language he knew. Yet, somehow, he understood them.
"Jisoo-ah, our little boy is awake!" a woman's voice said, her tone soft and filled with love. She reached down, lifting him carefully into her arms.
Karan—or rather, the infant that was now Karan—stared up at her, confusion and disbelief swirling within his tiny frame. He had been reborn, as promised. But in this world, he wasn't Karan anymore. He was someone else.
"Welcome to the world, Kim Jihoon," the woman whispered, cradling him gently.
Kim Jihoon. That was his name now, in this new life, in this alternate reality.
As he lay there, his small hands gripping the fabric of the woman's clothes, Karan—no, Jihoon—felt a strange sense of hope blooming within him.
A second chance… the opportunity he had yearned for his entire life. It was here, and he would not let it slip away. He would prove himself, earn the recognition he deserved. This time, he would ensure that his words, his stories, would be heard.
The future was uncertain, but Jihoon knew one thing for sure.
He would write his own destiny.