My name is Khan. In my first life, I was nothing more than an ordinary person. There was nothing special about my name, my face, or the quiet footsteps I took amidst the noise of the city. I was born without parents I could remember. No warm embrace, no gentle voice calling me home. There were only the cold walls of an orphanage and pitying gazes that slowly turned into indifference. I grew up like a shadow. I learned faster than the other children—not because I was a genius, but because I had no one to rely on. If I wasn't strong, I would be crushed. If I didn't move forward, I would be left behind. The world never waited for me.
At night, when the other children slept with simple dreams, I would stare at the cracked ceiling above my bed. I wondered… why was I born? What was the meaning of my existence? There was no answer.
I started working at a young age. Carrying goods at the market, cleaning shops, doing anything just to survive. My body was tired, but my soul was far more exhausted. I felt like a small cog in a massive machine that didn't care whether I broke or not.
Days blurred into nights. Hunger became familiar. Pain became routine. And then… the accident happened. It was raining heavily that day. The road was slick, and the city lights reflected dimly in the puddles.
I had just finished a late shift. In my hand was a plastic bag filled with cheap food for dinner. I remember the sound of a horn. Too close. Too loud. A blinding white light filled my vision.
My body felt light… then empty. The sound of rain disappeared. The noise of the world faded away. Is this death? I wondered. Strangely, I wasn't afraid. There was nothing I needed to leave behind.
No one who would cry for me. Darkness consumed everything. But within that darkness… there was warmth. As if something unseen was holding me. Then I heard a voice. Soft. Trembling. Full of hope.
"I can see it… he's opening his eyes." Slowly, I felt my body return. But this body… was small. Too small. I tried to move my hand, and all I saw were tiny fingers trembling in the air.
Light filled my vision again, and there… I saw her. A woman. Her beauty was almost unreal. Her hair shimmered like gold under the sunlight, her eyes wet with tears of joy.
She smiled at me—a smile I had never seen in my first life. "My son…" she whispered. Son? That word struck my soul harder than any collision ever could.
I wanted to speak. To ask. To make sure this wasn't a dream. But all that came out was the weak cry of a baby. And that's when I realized… I had been reborn.
Days passed, and that realization became clearer. I was no longer alone. I was part of a noble family. The room I slept in was spacious and warm.
The ceiling was adorned with intricate carvings. Silk curtains hung over tall windows. Servants came and went with quiet steps.
And that woman—my mother—was always by my side. Her name was Anna. Her touch was gentle as she held me. Her gaze was full of love, not pity.
Every time I cried, she never complained. She embraced me as if I were the most precious thing in the world.
Something I had never known before. Something I didn't even realize I had longed for. Her voice would hum soft melodies as she rocked me to sleep, and in those quiet moments, I felt a warmth spreading through my chest that I could not understand.
It was unfamiliar, yet comforting. Slowly, the emptiness that once defined me began to fade. I started to notice things I had ignored in my previous life—the softness of sunlight filtering through curtains, the gentle rustle of fabric, the quiet laughter of people who cared.
I was still a child, helpless and small, yet for the first time, I felt protected. Even without understanding this new world, I knew one thing with certainty: I had been given another chance.
And this time, I would not live as a shadow. I would find meaning in this life, even if I had to fight for it again and again, until I truly understood
why I existed at all. In this world.