reevaraikar

[reevaraikar]

Amby

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Today marks my 100th birthday, and somehow, I’m still walking—still strong, still here. People marvel at my ability to move like this at my age. But they don’t know the truth. Every step I take is because of her. Amby—my stubborn, beautiful Amby. She gave me everything. Without her, I wouldn’t be here today.

We met in 2004, when I was just 21. Amby wasn’t like other girls—she was an old soul. While others rushed through life, eager to keep up with trends, Amby was different. She preferred the slow road, savoring moments most people overlooked. She never cared for shortcuts or following the crowd. I admired that about her. With Amby, every experience felt meaningful.

She was always with me. When I went to college, she was by my side, full of energy, eager to explore life with me. We’d skip lectures just to chase the horizon, taking the long way to nowhere, with no plan in mind. Life felt endless with her. She made every day feel like an adventure, as if we could outlast time itself.

But time has a way of catching up with everyone. By 2024, she began to slow. Some days, she struggled to keep up, her energy faltering. It hurt to see her that way. I took her to the best specialists, hoping to restore her to her old self. After every refresh cycle, she’d come back to me, as vibrant as ever, but the glow never lasted long. I knew, deep down, that I was growing older—but she was aging even faster.

2050 arrived, and the world had changed beyond recognition. Cities gleamed with holographic displays, and vehicles no longer needed drivers. Magnetic highways hummed through the skies, guiding sleek, self-driving machines effortlessly. People didn’t think about the journey anymore—everything just moved faster, quieter, more precise.

But Amby and I didn’t fit in that future. We clung to the old ways—quiet roads, open spaces, and the comfort of familiar routines. It was just us, like it had always been.

That night, we went for one more drive. I don’t think either of us said it aloud, but we knew this might be our last ride. The air was thick with nostalgia, and Amby sat quietly beside me, her presence as steady as ever. I could feel her tiredness, but she was still with me—just as she’d always been.

We slipped out of the city and into the countryside, the road stretching before us like a promise. For a while, it felt like the old days—just us and the open road.

Then the rain hit.

It came suddenly, hammering down in sheets, blurring everything around us. Fog rolled in, thick and disorienting, swallowing the road ahead. I felt Amby’s silent concern beside me, but I pressed on. I thought if we could just get through the storm, we’d be fine—just like we always were.

Then came the lights—massive, blinding. A cargo hauler barreling out of the mist, too fast to avoid.

The world shattered. Metal twisted, glass exploded, and everything went dark.

I woke to the cold glow of a hospital room. Machines buzzed softly, monitoring my every breath. My body felt strange, heavy, and disconnected. But all I could think about was her.

“Where’s Amby?” I whispered, my throat dry and cracked.

The room fell silent. My mother sat beside me, her eyes brimming with grief. I asked again, my voice more desperate this time. “Where is she?”

Finally, my mother spoke, her voice trembling. “She saved your life… but she didn’t make it.”

I tried to sit up, to get out of bed, but something was wrong. My body didn’t respond the way it should. That’s when I looked down—and saw it.

Everything below my left knee was gone, replaced by sleek, metallic panels. The limb shimmered under the hospital lights, smooth and seamless, humming quietly with a subtle pulse.

“They used her,” my mother whispered. “Amby was fused into your leg during the crash. The doctors said removing her parts would have killed you, so they didn’t. They used what they had—her metal, her systems—and rebuilt your leg.”

Her voice wavered as she explained further. “They grafted bio-alloy into your muscles and nerves—nanofibers that integrated her metal directly into your body. It wasn’t just a prosthetic. It was her.”

The nanofibers woven into my leg were incredible—self-healing threads that bonded Amby’s metal with my living tissue. The alloy didn’t rust or decay; it stayed young, constantly renewing itself. Every time the fibers detected wear or damage, they repaired it within seconds, keeping the limb as strong and responsive as the day it was built.

Her frame became the core structure of the new limb. Pieces of her chassis provided reinforcement, making the leg nearly indestructible. Her internal wiring formed the nerve network—sensitive sensors that transmitted signals with the precision of real muscles. The alloy was warm to the touch, alive in its own way, always adapting, always in sync with me.

And the best part? Every step I took felt like her. The subtle hum that resonated from the limb was unmistakable—*it was Amby*. Even now, all these years later, I can feel her with me. Her essence, her presence, moving with me, guiding me, just as she always had.

Amby didn’t just save my life. She became part of me, part of every movement, every step. Even a century later, she’s still here, humming beneath my skin, keeping me upright, keeping me going.

She wasn’t just a car. She was my best friend, my companion, my everything. And now, she’s part of me—forever.

Together, we keep moving, through roads that no longer need maps and paths only we can see.

[reevaraikar]

The Silent War

In 2103, Jo sat curled up in the corner of an ancient temple, its pillars cracked from centuries of rain and war. The marble beneath him was cold, yet it was the only familiar thing left in his life. He clutched a small pendant in his hand, a keepsake from his mother, feeling the weight of both the past and the chaos unraveling outside. The world wasn’t always like this—it had once known peace, a world where people believed they had finally conquered the barriers that divided them.

The shift began decades earlier, around 2040, when a global catastrophe swept across the planet—something akin to the Chernobyl disaster, but far worse. Strange mutations followed, and people began to be born with extraordinary powers. These abilities ranged from the subtle control of emotions by Empaths to the grand feats of Telekinetics who could build cities with a flick of their hands. Newborns with heightened perception or creative genius emerged among the Neurodivergents, while others exhibited uncanny survival instincts, labeling them as Feral.

At first, this strange phenomenon threatened to divide humanity even further. But by 2070, the world made a radical choice: they decided to abandon their old ways of grouping themselves by religions, nations, and heritages. Humanity would now live as factions—defined by what they were born capable of, not by where they came from.

Heritage sites, places once linked to gods, empires, and ancestral pride, were re-assigned to the different factions, symbolic of a new, united world. The Taj Mahal became a sanctuary for the Empaths, who used it to bring peace and healing. The Pyramids were given to the Neurodivergents, now a hub of technological breakthroughs and scientific discovery.

For decades, the factions thrived. Each group worked in harmony with the others, believing they had built a society where everyone had a place. Empaths, in particular, were seen as the glue holding this new world together, using their abilities to mediate conflicts and foster cooperation. For the first time in history, war seemed like a relic of the past.

But not everyone fit into these new factions. Many children were born without any extraordinary powers—Ordinary, they called them. The world promised equality for all, but in truth, the Ordinary found themselves ostracized, treated as a reminder of the old world that no longer had a place in the future. They were pushed to the margins of society, their voices silenced, their existence ignored.

And that was how resentment began to simmer.

By 2090, the peace shattered. The Ordinary—tired of being shunned, of being told they were obsolete, rose in rebellion. They stormed the heritage sites, claiming that these sacred places belonged to them by right. Their fury was fueled not just by injustice, but by a profound emptiness. They had no powers, no factions to call their own, and no role in the new world. All they wanted was something to hold on to—something that proved they mattered.

The war that erupted was devastating. Entire cities were burned as the Ordinary fought to reclaim the heritage sites, and the once-unified factions turned on one another. The Empaths, despite their abilities to mediate, found themselves overwhelmed by the hatred that surged through the battlefield. Their once-sacred sanctuaries were defiled, their peaceful halls stained with blood.

It was in this chaos that Jo found himself.

***

Jo was only ten years old, born into the Heritage Faction. His parents had been caretakers of one of the old temples, a sacred space once dedicated to Lord Shiva. When the war began, they stayed behind, hoping to protect what they believed was their rightful home. Jo had watched in horror as Ordinary soldiers stormed the temple one night. His parents tried to negotiate with them, but words weren’t enough to stop the tide of rage.

“Run, Jo,” his mother had whispered as she pressed the pendant into his hand. “Stay small. Stay safe.”

Jo fled, slipping through the cracks of the crumbling temple walls. For weeks, he survived alone, hiding among the ruins while the war raged outside. He scavenged food from abandoned kitchens and drank from puddles collected in stone carvings. Every night, he listened to the sounds of gunfire and screams, wondering if the fighting would ever stop.

One evening, as Jo wandered the empty halls of the temple, he found himself at the entrance, gazing at the battle beyond. He watched as Ordinary soldiers swarmed another shrine, tearing down banners and smashing statues. At first, all Jo felt was anger. But then he saw something that made him pause.

A soldier knelt before the remains of a shattered idol, clutching a piece of it to his chest. Another stood motionless, staring at the ruins as if searching for something lost. Jo saw the tears in their eyes, the way their hands trembled, not with rage, but with sorrow.

In that moment, Jo realized something that changed everything. These soldiers weren’t just fighting for control, they were fighting for meaning. Without powers, without a place in the new world, the Ordinary had nothing. The heritage sites were the last remnants of a time when they mattered, and reclaiming them was their only way to feel whole again.

Jo sat down on the temple steps, the weight of his realization pressing down on him. The people he had feared, the ones he had hated, weren’t monsters. They were just human—like him, lost and desperate for something to believe in.

He looked down at the pendant in his hand, the symbol of his heritage, and knew he had a choice. He could cling to the past, holding onto the old divisions, or he could try to build something new—a world where everyone belonged, where no one was left behind.

Jo stood, determination hardening in his chest. The war wouldn’t end today, and he knew there would be more suffering to come. But perhaps, if people like him began to see the humanity in others, there was hope for a different future.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, toward the battlefield, not as an enemy, but as a bridge.

[reevaraikar]

Amby, My Beautiful Amby

Today marks my 100th birthday, and I can still move, still walk, still live. It’s a miracle, really. I should’ve been gone a long time ago, but I’m not. And it’s all because of her, my Amby. My beautiful, brave Amby. Everything I am, everything I’ve ever done since that night, I owe to her.

She was the love of my life. I met her when I turned 21, back in 1997. From the moment I saw her, I knew. She became my constant companion, the one I ran to when the world felt too heavy. We shared everything, endless conversations, quiet drives with nothing but the sound of wind, and nights spent chasing the stars without a care. I thought she’d be with me forever.

It was the summer of 2029 when it all changed. Just another adventure, like so many before. No destination, no plan, just the road beneath us and music filling the air. That night, I had this sudden, reckless urge to push further, to see how fast we could go, how far we could escape from everything. She laughed, God, I remember that laugh, and we flew down the highway, our hearts racing with every mile.

Then the rain came. Out of nowhere, as if the sky cracked open above us. The road vanished beneath a thick fog, and I couldn’t see a thing. I should’ve slowed down. I should’ve pulled over. But I didn’t. I kept going, hoping to find somewhere to stop, somewhere safe for both of us.

And that’s when it happened. Headlights—bright, blinding, and too close. A truck barreled out of the mist, and everything shattered in an instant.

I don’t remember much after that—just darkness, sirens, and the distant hum of hospital lights. When I woke, all I could think about was her. I didn’t care where I was or what had happened to me. I just needed to know if she was okay.

"Where’s Amby?" I whispered, my voice weak and cracked.

The room went silent. My mother sat beside me, holding back tears, and finally, she spoke. "She saved your life… but she didn’t make it."

I felt something inside me collapse, a weight too heavy to bear. I tried to move, to get out of bed and find her, but that’s when I noticed..my left leg, or what was left of it.

Everything below the knee was gone. Instead, there was something strange—cold, rigid. Pieces of metal, glinting faintly under the hospital lights. I stared in disbelief, unable to understand what I was seeing.

My mother explained through sobs. "When they found you both, you were pinned—crushed. Your leg was torn apart, but there were shards of metal lodged into it, holding it together. If the doctors had removed them, you would’ve bled to death on the spot. So they did what they had to,they worked around the metal, amputated what was beyond saving, and used what remained… to rebuild your leg."

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

"It’s her," my mother whispered. "The metal, it’s her. They made your leg from what was left of her."

That’s when the truth hit me like a punch to the chest. Amby wasn’t just a girl, wasn’t just the love of my life. She was my first love in another way—the *first car* I ever bought with my own hard-earned money. My beautiful Hindustan Ambassador. She saved me, even in her final moments, becoming a part of me forever.

Every step I take, every move I make, she’s with me. Amby didn’t just save my life, she *became* a part of me. And though she’s gone, she still carries me forward, even a hundred years later.