CHAPTER 3

We think time moves forward. It doesn’t. It loops.

The wind was gentle now.

The last neem leaf rested near the edge of my shoe — the same one I saw fall when this trip down memory lane began. Funny how something so small could hold together years of memories, regrets, and self-inflicted guilt.

I crouched down, picking it up like I was holding a fragile version of myself.

For years, regrets had clung to me just like this — light, harmless at first, but always there. I used to think I was chained to them, trapped in a loop of promises I could never keep. Promises to the dead, promises to myself.

But not anymore.

The boy who drowned in guilt isn’t here today. I buried him beside those regrets long ago.

I dusted off my hands and looked around. The world didn’t pause for my healing. It never does. But somewhere along the line, I realized victory isn’t loud. It doesn’t come with applause. Sometimes, it’s just the quiet acceptance that you’ve survived.

I stood up, straightened my coat, and made my way to the car.

As I sat behind the wheel, the city unfolded in the rearview mirror — a reflection of places I once wanted to escape. Streets that witnessed my worst days, corners that knew my shame.

The ticking in my head was softer now, but it was still there. A reminder, not a sentence.

I ran my fingers over the steering wheel, tracing invisible scars only I could feel. Years of trying to outrun myself, yet somehow, I ended up right where I needed to be.

Then my phone buzzed.

A message.

Simple. Harmless.

But they never are.

"We need to talk."

Her name blinked on the screen.

I smiled — that tired smile you give when you already know how the story ends, but you press play anyway.

The neem leaf sat quietly on the dashboard, a trophy for a battle I thought was over.

Little did I know, a new war was waiting.

I started the engine. The ticking grew louder.

After brushing off her message, I dove back into my day. Work had become my fortress — a place where numbers, cases, and cold logic kept emotions at bay. Funny how life works. The kid who once failed every subject was now the guy untangling corporate messes with ease. Contracts, loopholes, negotiations — all just puzzles I knew how to solve.

In the courtroom, I wasn’t the lost boy from school. I was sharp, precise, a problem-fixer. People listened when I spoke. Clients shook my hand like I was some kind of miracle worker. For a while, winning cases felt like winning at life.

But even victories get lonely.

On my way home, I took a detour. A small gesture to lift her mood — a watch she’d mentioned once in passing. Something simple, yet thoughtful. That’s what relationships are, right? Small repairs.

The sun was dipping when my car rolled into her driveway. That’s when I noticed it.

A bike.

Not hers. She didn’t even know how to ride one. And she wasn’t the type to have surprise visitors on two wheels.

The ticking grew louder.

Each step toward her door felt heavier. Not with regret. Not with guilt. This was different. A dissonance, like the universe was glitching. My heart was racing but it didn’t feel like mine. Like it was borrowed from someone else who already knew what I was about to find.

I thought I had outgrown moments like these. Thought I buried the boy who flinched at life’s ambushes.

But as I reached for the door, I felt it — a weight on my shoulder.

A neem leaf.

Just one.

Funny, isn’t it? How something so light could suddenly feel like it was pulling me back into the dirt.

I brushed it off. Told myself I was overthinking.

And then, I opened the door.

Some trees fall with a warning.
Some just… collapse.

By the time I realized what was breaking, it was already too late.

The neem wasn’t the only thing that fell that day.