Chapter 1 The experiment
20 October 2125
Harry sat immersed in the labyrinth of his research, the sterile glow of the laboratory lights shimmering across his weary face. He was no ordinary scientist; his mind dwelled in realms far beyond conventional boundaries.
“If I succeed,” he whispered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the intricate device before him, “this creation will alter the very essence of existence.”
That morning, inside the grand auditorium of the Institute of Advanced Sciences, Harry unveiled his invention to a gathering of eminent minds.
“My endeavor,” he declared, his voice steady yet laced with fervor, “is to forge a mechanism capable of transcending flesh — a device that can exchange the human soul itself.”
A hush descended. The assembly of scientists, renowned for their skepticism, exchanged bewildered glances.
From among them, rose Mr. Oxward, a distinguished intellectual whose name was etched in the chronicles of Indian science. Adjusting his spectacles, he spoke with measured disapproval:
“But Harry, what of your previous pursuit? If I recall, you squandered years chasing after that fanciful contraption — the so-called time machine.”
Another voice pierced the silence, laced with derision:
“Yes, is this not merely another folly to eclipse your last?”
Harry’s expression darkened, though his resolve did not falter.
“No, gentlemen,” he replied firmly, “I abandoned that path long ago. This endeavor is different. This is the threshold of a new dawn.”
Oxward’s eyes narrowed, his tone cutting.
“Forgive me, Harry, but such musings sound more like dreams than science. I fear your pursuit, however passionate, is baseless.”
Harry left the hall with a heavy heart, his spirit weighed down by the sting of rejection. He could not comprehend why his vision, born of pure intellect and devotion, was so easily dismissed as baseless.
“Harry, what troubles you? Why do you look so dejected?” asked Max, approaching with concern.
Max was not only a fellow scientist but also Harry’s former classmate, a companion who had often stood by him during his most daring experiments.
Harry exhaled deeply before replying, his voice tinged with bitterness.
“In this world, Max, raw talent holds little value. People rarely seek the depth of thought or the fire of imagination. Instead, they judge only what they can see, never what the mind conceives.”
Max furrowed his brows, trying to follow Harry’s anguish.
“What are you saying, Harry? Did they truly reject your project?”
“Yes, Max,” Harry admitted, his voice low but resolute. “They rejected it.”
Max leaned closer, his tone calm yet probing. “So what now, Harry? What will you do?”
A faint glimmer returned to Harry’s weary eyes. “Now, I press on. I will not surrender this dream. I will see my project to completion—and only then shall I find rest.”
Max nodded, the loyalty in his gaze unwavering. “Do you want my help?”
Harry hesitated for only a moment before answering. “Yes, Max. I need you. Together, we’ll make it real.”
Later that night, the storm raged as Harry steered his car through the unrelenting rain. Each drop hammered against the windshield, blurring the city lights into streaks of silver. His thoughts were heavy with determination when, suddenly, his eyes caught a fleeting figure at the roadside.
A young woman stood there, illuminated briefly by the car’s headlights, her face shadowed by the downpour. Something within Harry stirred—a recognition buried deep in memory. He slowed, staring, but the image remained elusive.
I know her… he thought, straining to recall. Yet the memory dissolved like mist, refusing to surface. Shaking his head, he pressed onward, the road carrying him toward home, while the enigma of her presence lingered in his mind like a haunting refrain.
The rain had lessened to a drizzle by the time Harry pulled into the driveway. He switched off the engine, but his hands lingered on the steering wheel, his thoughts circling back to the girl he had glimpsed on the roadside. Her image—fragile, half-lit by the headlights—clung to him like a half-forgotten dream.
Inside, the house was warm, the faint aroma of tea drifting from the kitchen. His mother noticed the distance in his eyes.
“Harry, is something troubling you?” she asked gently, setting aside her cup.
Harry hesitated, then admitted, “I saw someone tonight, Mother. A girl. I don’t know who she is, yet I feel I have met her before. Her face… it won’t leave my mind.”
His mother studied him, her expression soft with maternal concern. “Sometimes the heart remembers what the mind forgets. Perhaps this girl belongs to a chapter of your past, waiting to return.”
Harry offered a faint, uncertain smile, but said no more. Retreating to his room, he immersed himself once again in his work. His desk was scattered with scattered tools, half-finished notes, and fragments of blueprints. He rummaged through the shelves in search of anything useful for his project, when his hand brushed against an old wooden box tucked away in the corner.
Curiosity stirred, he drew it out and lifted the lid. The scent of faded paper rose up, carrying him back in time. Inside were tokens of youth—scribbled notebooks, badges from science fairs, fragments of forgotten sketches. Then, at the bottom, he found it: a photograph.
The edges were worn, the colors softened by years, but the image was unmistakable. It was a picture from his school days, surrounded by classmates. And among them—her. The very same face he had seen in the rain.
Harry’s breath caught. The present blurred, and memory began to unfurl.
The story drifted fifteen years back…
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Who was the girl, what was the past story?
Chapter 2 School's Life
