The room was a battlefield of empty snack bags, discarded textbooks, and tangled charging cables. In the center of this chaos, Aditya Sharma lay sprawled across his bed, the blue light of his laptop illuminating a face that seemed almost too perfect for the mess surrounding it. On the screen, a hero was being bathed in a celestial glow, moments away from being reborn in a realm of dragons and magic.
Aditya sighed, a sound full of longing. *"I wish…"* he whispered to the stale air of the room, *"I could just disappear into a world like that. A place of fantasy, where the stakes actually matter."*
He reached out blindly for a bag of chips, his fingers brushing against an empty ceramic plate. No snacks left. With a groan, he stood up, his joints popping. He caught his reflection in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Despite the ruffled hair and the oversized hoodie, he looked undeniably adorable—a genetic jackpot that combined soft, soulful eyes with a jawline that could cut glass.
Stepping out into the humid streets of New Delhi, the atmosphere changed instantly. Aditya was used to the whispers.
"Is that him? The one from the magazine?"
"He's even cuter in person. Look at that style!"
He kept his head down, navigating the market with practiced ease. Yet, he couldn't stay invisible for long. A group of teenage girls, giggling and nudging one another, finally blocked his path.
"Excuse me!" one of them chirped, her face flushed. "Could we get your Instagram? Or your Gmail? Anything?"
Aditya offered a polite, slightly shy smile—the kind that made heartbeats skip. He chatted with them briefly, his voice soft and humble, before excusing himself to grab his essentials. Passing a newsstand, he caught sight of an e-magazine cover displayed on a tablet. His own face stared back at him. The headline read: **"The Natural Born Protagonist: Why Aditya Sharma is the Face of a Generation."**
*"Sigh… why is it always my photo?"* he thought, ducking into a shop. *"Everyone talks like I'm some main character, but I just feel like I'm waiting for the story to actually start."*
### The Chef and the School ID
By the time he returned home, the digital clock on his wall flickered to **5:00 PM**. He pulled a thick, leather-bound novel from his shelf, hoping to lose himself in another world, but a sharp ring of the doorbell interrupted him.
Standing in the threshold was Shoya Kapoor. She was a young, rising talent in the culinary world, a prodigy chef who carried herself with a mix of professional confidence and youthful charm.
"The mess in here is legendary, Aditya," she teased, stepping inside.
She didn't wait for an invitation to the kitchen. By **9:00 PM**, the aroma of saffron and sautéed spices filled the apartment. Aditya insisted she eat with him; it was late, and the city outside was humming with the frantic energy of the night.
After the meal, Shoya's professional instincts took over. She couldn't stand the clutter. As she moved through the apartment, tidying stacks of paper and organizing the chaos, she picked up a plastic card that had fallen behind a desk. It was Aditya's school ID.
> **Name:** Aditya Sharma
> **Class:** 11th
> **Guardian:** Mr. Shrivastava Sharma
> **Address:** New Delhi, India
>
She handed it back to him as the clock struck **10:00 PM**.
"It's too late for you to head back across the city," Aditya said, gesturing toward the hallway. "Stay here. I have a guest room—it's actually clean, I promise."
Shoya hesitated, but the sincerity in his eyes won her over. She knew Aditya's story—everyone did. He was the lonely ward of the legendary actor Shrivastava Sharma. His real parents had perished in a horrific car accident when he was only two, leaving him in the care of his father's best friend. Despite the fame and the luxury, he was a boy living in a golden cage of solitude.
The next morning, Shoya woke to a surprising sight: a beautifully plated breakfast sitting on the table. It wasn't just food; it was art.
"You can cook like this?" she asked, stunned. "This looks professional."
Aditya nodded simply. "I can."
"Then why call me to cook for you?"
Aditya looked away, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Basically… I just like the food you make. It feels different."
Shoya felt her own face heat up. She watched him move about the house, performing chores with a quiet grace. While they were washing the dishes together, Aditya glanced at her.
"How old are you exactly, Shoya?"
"I'm eighteen," she replied.
"Ah," he smiled, looking at the kitchen cabinet. "So you're two years older than me. My *noona* chef."
### The River's Cruel Tide
The school day went by in a blur of admiring glances and whispered compliments. Aditya was the rare breed of popular student who lacked any shred of ego. He excelled in his studies, led the sports teams, and still took the time to greet Shoya warmly in the halls.
"Oh! Hello, Shoya!" he called out after his final class, waving with a bright, genuine smile. They walked part of the way together, the bond between them growing into something deeper than mere friendship.
But as Aditya walked the final stretch toward his home near the river, the atmosphere shifted. A commotion broke out near the embankment. A small child, no older than five, had somehow ended up in the center of the churning water, clinging to a piece of driftwood.
Aditya didn't hesitate. He dropped his bag, the heavy textbooks thudding against the dirt, and sprinted toward the water.
"Hang on!" he screamed.
He dove in, the cold water shocking his system. He was a strong swimmer, but as he reached the midpoint, the river betrayed him. A freak high tide, surged by distant rains, rose like a wall of glass. It slammed into him with the force of a freight train.
As he was dragged under, his vision began to fade into a murky green. His last thought wasn't of fear, but of confusion. *"How could a child even get to the center of the river? It doesn't make sense…"*
He smiled a sad, final smile as the water filled his lungs, and the world went black.
### The Divine Audience
Aditya opened his eyes to a world of endless, shimmering white. Standing before him was a figure draped in light so intense it felt divine.
"Who are you?" Aditya asked, his voice steady despite the circumstances. "And where am I?"
"I am the one you tried to save," the figure replied, their voice like a harmony of bells. "I am God. And you, Aditya, are currently a soul."
Aditya felt a pang of grief. "So I'm dead. Can I… can I see what's happening?"
The deity waved a hand, and a shimmering screen appeared in the air. Aditya watched, heartbroken, as a massive crane hauled his lifeless body from the river. The banks were lined with police and news cameras. He saw his guardian, the famous Shrivastava Sharma, collapse to his knees, his face a mask of shattered pride and genuine sorrow.
Then, he saw Shoya. She pushed through the police line, her eyes red and swollen. She reached out to touch his cold hand one last time.
"I love him!" she sobbed, the sound tearing through the silent white void. "Why did he have to die so early? He was too good for this world!"
A tear escaped Aditya's eye. He felt a warmth in his chest he had never known in life—the realization that he was truly loved.
The God looked at him with a somber expression. "Your life was short, but your soul is bright. Because of your sacrifice, I will grant your wish. You will reincarnate in another world as a Hero. But there is a condition."
Aditya wiped his tears, his resolve hardening. "What is it?"
"In this new world," God explained with a serious tone, "the balance of power is different. Females are naturally more powerful than males. They are the warriors, the mages, and the rulers. You will be a rarity."
Aditya's eyes went wide. "Huh? Whaaat?!"
"I am sending you to the Goddess of that world," God continued, a hint of amusement dancing in his divine eyes. "But be warned—she has a very specific taste. She adores cute, handsome boys. Since you are… well, exactly her type, she may grant you even more power than intended. Or she may never let you go."
Aditya took a deep breath, thinking of the life he left behind and the fantasy he had always craved. He straightened his posture, the "natural protagonist" finally stepping into his role.
"I—I will do it!" he declared.
With a flash of light more brilliant than the sun, Aditya Sharma vanished from the void, tumbling toward a world where his face would be his greatest weapon and his destiny was finally his own to write.