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It wasn't glamorous, but it felt important.

He studied geopolitics and historical conflicts, believing that one day his work might make a real difference for India.

But while he chased this goal, the rest of his life had slipped away without him noticing.

Every morning, Rohan woke up before the sun, usually around 5 a.m.

His small apartment was always in a state of disarray, books scattered across the floor, papers piled on every surface, old coffee cups he never got around to cleaning up.

He didn't care much about how it looked; it was just a place to sleep and work.

Most of the walls were bare except for a couple of maps he had pinned up, filled with notes and theories scribbled in the margins.

He spent hours staring at those maps, imagining how different countries planning their next moves like pieces on a chessboard.

It was what he lived for.

His mornings were always the same.

Coffee first, and then he'd sit at his desk, already buried under stacks of books.

The library was his second home.

It was quieter there, and he could spend hours buried in research without any distractions.

Most of his classmates hung out in groups, going to cafés after lectures or grabbing dinner together.

Not Rohan.

He admired some of them, though, like Kavita, who always asked the smartest questions in class.

She seemed to get the kind of clarity he was still struggling to find.

Then there was Arjun, who was also doing his PhD, but he somehow managed to have a social life, too.

Rohan often saw him joking around with others after class or at the library café.

It wasn't jealousy, exactly, but Rohan wondered how Arjun balanced everything so well.

Rohan himself hadn't had a proper conversation with anyone in weeks that wasn't about research or deadlines.

One afternoon, as a lecture ended, Kavita approached him.

It wasn't something that happened often, and it caught him by surprise.

"Hey, Rohan, are you coming to the study group later?" she asked, her tone casual, but her eyes were genuinely curious.

Rohan shifted on his feet. "I don't think so. I've got some work to catch up on," he mumbled.

It wasn't exactly a lie, but he knew that even if he had free time, he wouldn't go.

Kavita nodded, but didn't push. "Alright, but if you change your mind, we'll be at the usual spot."

He smiled politely and watched her leave with a group of classmates, their easy laughter fading as they walked down the hall.

He could have joined them, but something always held him back.

The days followed a similar pattern, study, more study, and a bit more after that.

Even on weekends, when the campus was quieter, he'd head to the library, spending hours pouring over articles or refining his research.

The silence of the library felt comforting, even if it sometimes highlighted how much time he spent alone.

One evening, after a long day of reading and taking notes, Rohan wandered through the campus instead of going straight home.

He noticed a group near the student union, their energy drawing his attention.

They looked so carefree, so different from the isolated routine he had carved out for himself.

Rohan stood there for a while, hands in his pockets, watching them from a distance.

He felt a strange longing, a quiet wish to be a part of that, to have someone to talk to outside of his academic bubble.

But he couldn't remember the last time he had let himself be part of something social like that.

Just as he was about to leave, he heard someone call his name.

He turned to see Meera, one of the junior faculty members who had recently joined the department.

She was a few years older than him but had a warm, approachable way about her that made her popular with both students and staff.

"Rohan, you're still here?" she asked with a small smile as she caught up to him.

"Yeah, just... couldn't bring myself to leave the library yet," he said, scratching the back of his head.

Meera nodded knowingly. "I get that. Sometimes it's hard to stop when you're in the middle of something." She paused for a moment before continuing,

"But you know, it's important to step away sometimes. I see you around a lot always working late. Don't burn yourself out."

Rohan let out a small laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. "Yeah, I guess I get a little lost in it."

She looked at him with a mix of concern and understanding. "We all do. But don't forget to take care of yourself. It's easy to get stuck in the work and miss out on... well, everything else."

He didn't know what to say. She wasn't wrong, but hearing it out loud made it hit harder.

"I'll try," he said, though he wasn't sure he meant it.

They chatted for a few more minutes, the conversation light and friendly, before parting ways.

But as Rohan walked home, Meera's words stuck with him.

She was right, of course. Somewhere along the line, he had let the rest of his life slip away.

His research consumed him, but at what cost?

He was always alone, barely even talking to his classmates outside of academic discussions.

The following days were more of the same, lectures, research, and long hours in the library.

But Meera's words still rang in the back of his mind, making him question his routine.

One evening, as the monsoon rains poured over Pune, Rohan left the library later than usual.

The sky was a heavy, dark gray, and the streets were nearly deserted.

The rain was relentless, pounding the pavement and splashing off the edges of rooftops.

He pulled out his umbrella, though it did little to protect him from the downpour.

He was crossing a street, distracted, when he heard the roar of a car engine.

He barely had time to react before headlights blinded him.

A sleek Porsche came speeding down the slick road, tires skidding on the wet pavement.

In the flash of a second, Rohan's world turned upside down.

The car hit him hard, and he was thrown into the air.

Time seemed to slow down.

He felt the impact, the cold rain hitting his face as he was tossed like a rag doll.

The world was a blur of lights, rain, and pain as he hit the ground with a sickening thud.

His body screamed in agony, but he couldn't move. He could barely even breathe.

The sound of the rain was deafening, and everything else felt distant his thoughts, his memories, his life.

The pain was unbearable, but worse than the physical hurt was the wave of regret that washed over him.

He thought about all the things he hadn't done.

The friendships he had let slip by, the conversations he had avoided, the life he had kept at arm's length because of his obsession with work.

As he lay there on the rain-soaked street, blood mixing with the water on the pavement, his vision began to blur.

Darkness started creeping in from the edges, and with it, the realization that this might be it. His work, his dreams, they were slipping away from him.

And in that moment, it hit him hard.

He had been so focused on trying to make a difference in the world, but what difference had he really made?

The world went dark.

-----

When Rohan opened his eyes, the world around him felt strange, unfamiliar.

The first thing he noticed was the soft glow of oil lamps flickering in the room.

He tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his body, but it wasn't the hospital bed he expected.

The bed he lay on was covered with heavy, embroidered fabrics that didn't belong in a modern time

The room was large, but it felt intimate, like it had been lived in for many years.

Rohan's eyes darted around, confused.

The walls were lined with wooden carvings, and there was no sign of the modern world he had come from.

Instead, there were old leather-bound books on shelves, a large wooden desk with papers and quills.

Everything felt like it belonged to another era.

He tried to steady his breathing, panic rising in his chest.

Where was he?

How was this possible?

His eyes landed on a portrait hanging on the opposite wall, a man draped in a simple white cloth, his expression calm but commanding.

Beneath the portrait was a plaque: Pandit Neelkanth Rao, Leader of the Democratic Congress Party.

Rohan's heart raced as some memory came to his mind, Pandit Rao had died recently, leaving a huge gap in the party's leadership.

But what did this have to do with him?

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and before Rohan could respond, it swung open.

A man in his fifties, wearing a simple kurta, stepped in.

His face was lined with worry, but his eyes showed respect as he looked at Rohan.

"Sir, the party leaders are waiting for you in the next room," the man said, his voice steady but urgent.

Rohan blinked, feeling like the ground had just been pulled out from under him.

"Waiting for me?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't understand. Where am I?"

The man looked at him carefully, as if trying to make sense of Rohan's confusion. "Sir, you are the new leader of the Democratic Congress Party. The nation needs your guidance now more than ever."

Rohan stared at him, his mind spinning.

This couldn't be happening.

He was a PhD student, not a political leader.

How had he gone from a rainy street in Pune to... this?

"I think there's been a mistake," Rohan said, standing up slowly, though his legs felt weak. "I'm not who you think I am."

The man smiled slightly, though his eyes remained serious. "Sir, the country believes in you. The party believes in you. You are exactly who we need right now."

Rohan didn't know how to respond.

His instincts told him to run, to get out of this situation, but something deeper pulled him in.

All those years he had spent studying international relations, understanding how nations worked, how leaders made decisions, it all felt like preparation for something.

Maybe... this?

But how could he lead a country?

He barely knew how to manage his own life.

"I don't think I'm ready," Rohan finally admitted, his voice shaking. "I don't even know how I got here."

The man placed a reassuring hand on Rohan's shoulder. "No one is ever fully ready for responsibility of this scale, sir. But sometimes, the world chooses us. And we must rise to the occasion."

Rohan wasn't sure if he believed the man, but what choice did he have?

"Alright," Rohan said, nodding slowly. "Give me few minutes."

The man gave him a respectful bow. "The leaders are ready whenever you are, sir. I'll give you a few moments."

As the man left the room, Rohan turned to face the portrait of Pandit Neelkanth Rao.

The man in the painting seemed to be watching him, those calm eyes full of wisdom that Rohan wasn't sure he could ever possess.

"How did you do it?" Rohan whispered

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

He might not know how he had ended up here, but one thing was clear: he couldn't go back.

Whatever had brought him here had given him a chance to make the impact he had always dreamed of.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the purpose he had been searching for all along.

With one last glance at the portrait, Rohan stepped toward the door, ready to face whatever was waiting for him on the other side.

As he walked down the hallway, Rohan's mind raced.

He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't real, that he would wake up any moment in his cramped apartment, back in Pune, back to his quiet, solitary life.

But the further he walked, the more he realized that this wasn't a dream.

It felt too real

When he reached the room where the party leaders were waiting, he hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open.

Inside, a group of men and women stood around a long table, their faces serious, their eyes fixed on him as he entered.

"Sir," one of the women said, stepping forward. "We've been waiting for your guidance. The situation is urgent."

Rohan nodded, even though he had no idea what the situation was.

He took a seat at the head of the table, feeling completely out of place but knowing he had to play the part.

For now, he had to trust that somehow, he could rise to the challenge.

As they began to explain the country's pressing issues, Rohan's mind shifted into gear.

This was what he had studied for.

He knew the world's systems, the dynamics of power, the strategies leaders used.

Maybe he wasn't as lost as he thought.

And maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where he was meant to be.