Chapter 1
At Med2Lyf, the lights never turned off completely. They only grew dimmer.
People spoke softly around Aarav, as if he might not last the night.
He lay on the narrow hospital bed, staring at the ceiling while the machine beside him continued its quiet, repetitive beeping.
He had stopped counting the days.
There wasn't much point anymore.
His condition had already been explained to him several times. The myelin around his nerves was deteriorating, and there was nothing the doctors could do to reverse it. The medication could slow the process, but eventually his body would stop responding.
The doctors called it terminal.
Aarav simply called it a deadline.
He used to think India was held together by something quiet. Different languages in the same train. Different gods on the same street. A tired kind of agreement that most people tried not to break because life was already difficult enough.
That belief did not survive the first month of the invasion.
The aliens did not hate anyone.
That part stayed with him.
Hatred would have been human.
They simply moved through cities the way winter moved across an open field.
Cambodia first.
Then north.
Then everywhere.
By the time the Global Alliance was formed, the maps were already lying.
Cities disappeared from them.
Borders stopped meaning much.
Military sectors replaced districts, evacuation zones replaced neighborhoods, and casualty numbers became something people heard over breakfast.
Aarav's family had refused to leave when the evacuation trucks came.
He still did not know if it had been courage or simply the inability to imagine living anywhere else.
One morning, the warm house was still there.
By evening, it wasn't. It became cold.
Neither was his family.
Aarav survived.
That was the part he had never understood.
Why him?
Why had his body, already failing from disease, decided to keep going while everyone he loved had been taken away?
The doctors had called it luck.
Aarav had never believed in luck.
He turned his head toward the window.
Beyond the glass, the city was covered in darkness. The lights from the neighboring buildings were fewer than they used to be. Even the advertisements had changed.
Most of them were military recruitment notices now.
**SERVE HUMANITY.**
**JOIN THE GLOBAL DEFENSE FORCE.**
**THE FRONT NEEDS YOU.**
He had seen them every day.
He had ignored them every day.
Until today.
---
The nurse disconnected the machine with quick, practiced movements.
"You should eat."
Aarav sat up slowly.
His body felt heavier than it should have.
The nurse placed a metal tray on the table and left without saying anything else.
The food was simple.
Rice.
Thin dal.
A piece of still-warm flatbread.
Steam rose from it.
Then the smell reached him.
Cumin.
Warm oil.
The faint sweetness that only appeared when his mother finished cooking.
It was exact.
For a moment, he was back in the old kitchen.
Afternoon light fell across the floor. His mother stood beside the stove with her sleeves rolled up, moving the ladle through the pot.
Aarav could almost hear her voice.
*Eat before it gets cold.*
The memory disappeared as quickly as it came.
He looked down at the food.
His appetite was gone.
Still, he picked up the spoon.
One bite.
Then another.
He finished everything.
The nurse returned a few minutes later and found the tray empty.
"Better."
Aarav nodded.
She looked at him for a moment.
"You've been asking about the military again."
"Yes."
"They approved your request."
Aarav's hand stopped.
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
He looked at her.
"Where?"
The nurse hesitated before answering.
"Front Delta."
The name sat between them for a moment.
Aarav had heard it before.
Everyone had.
Front Delta was one of the worst active sectors remaining in the North-Eastern Frontier.
The kind of place people spoke about quietly.
The kind of place soldiers came back from only when they were lucky.
"You're not fit for it," the nurse said.
"I know."
"You have a terminal condition."
"I know."
"You could receive treatment in the southern medical domes."
Aarav looked toward the window.
"I don't want treatment."
She frowned.
"Why?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Because there wasn't really a good answer.
The truth was much simpler.
He had already lost the people he wanted to live for.
If his remaining time had to end somewhere, he would rather choose where.
---
Dr. Varun's laboratory was colder than the ward.
Aarav sat across from him while the doctor studied the latest readings.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The only sound was the low hum of the equipment.
Dr. Varun turned the screen slightly toward himself and looked through the results again.
"Your myelin is deteriorating," he said.
Aarav remained silent.
"The southern medical domes have a place for you. Nerve-gel infusions. Structured care. You would have three years of relative stability before the progressive phase locks in."
He paused.
"After that, they'll keep you comfortable until the signals to the diaphragm stop."
Aarav listened without moving.
"It's quiet," Dr. Varun added. "You don't freeze."
Aarav looked at him.
"How long if I go to the front?"
The doctor stared at him.
"I can't tell you."
"Give me an estimate."
"There isn't one."
"There always is."
Dr. Varun leaned back.
"You're young, Aarav."
"So are the people dying there."
The doctor's expression tightened.
"This isn't a discussion about courage."
"I know."
"It's about whether you want to spend the time you have left fighting a war you probably cannot survive."
Aarav looked down at his hands.
His fingers were thin.
Too thin.
He remembered his mother's hands instead.
The way she used to hide the fact that there wasn't enough food.
The way she always gave him the larger portion.
The way she smiled when he complained that she wasn't eating.
He had spent weeks telling himself that he hated the aliens.
Maybe he did.
But hatred wasn't enough anymore.
There was nothing left in him that needed revenge.
There was only something that refused to sit quietly and wait for death.
A thought had formed.
If the world had already decided he was finished, then he would choose the manner of it.
He would not die in a clean bed while the invaders kept walking.
Aarav looked back at Dr. Varun.
"I want to enlist."
The doctor was quiet.
Then he pushed a document toward him.
"Sign."
Aarav picked up the pen.
His hand did not shake.
The scanner activated.
A red light passed over his thumb.
**[WAIVER 14-B ACCEPTED.]**
**[NAME: AARAV SEHGAL.]**
**[STATUS: ACTIVE MILITARY PERSONNEL.]**
**[ASSIGNED SECTOR: FRONT DELTA.]**
Dr. Varun watched the confirmation appear.
"Transit Pad Seven," he said finally. "Keep your legs moving."
Aarav stood.
He picked up his bag.
He did not look back.
---
The corridor felt longer than it was.
Lights hummed above him.
People moved around him carrying medicine, equipment and paperwork.
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody asked where he was going.
Outside the hospital, the air felt different.
