Chapter 1: The End of My Unfortunate Life
My name is Chaithanya, a 24-year-old South Indian with brown skin, standing at 5'8" with slightly curly hair and a decent, though not overly fit, physique.
You know what? There isn't a single country free from the existence of simps—those men who treat every woman like a princess, trailing after them like loyal dogs. When it comes to a global ranking of simps, India undoubtedly tops the list. And yes, I'll admit it—I'm one of them. But surprisingly, I'm in love. I met my girlfriend on a social media platform in a group called Indian Dating. After weeks of frequent interaction, we fell for each other, and today, for the first time, I'm traveling to meet her.
Her name is Nomil, a rare name even in North India. I'm journeying from Andhra Pradesh to Rajasthan by train. Andhra Pradesh is renowned for its rice fields, while Rajasthan is famous for its vast deserts. The train ride has stretched over three grueling days, and I haven't eaten properly during this time—just a few snacks, far from enough. I'm physically weak right now, but my excitement to meet Nomil keeps me going.
At my age, with hot blood coursing through my veins, logic often takes a backseat. Like many young men, I act on impulse. Upon arriving in Rajasthan, I headed straight to Nomil's college. The autorickshaw fare was a steep 200 rupees—exorbitant, but I didn't care. My mind was consumed with one thought: I'm about to meet my girlfriend.
What I didn't know—what I couldn't have known—is that India leads the world in honor killings. In this unforgiving, ruthless country, a man's life, especially in matters of love, can be worth less than dirt. I was naive, unaware of the harsh reality awaiting me, and I would soon face the consequences of my innocent, reckless decision.
I sat patiently on a bench near the entrance of the women's degree college, my eyes scanning the surroundings with curiosity and anticipation. After 30 minutes, I spotted a young woman walking toward me. It was Nomil. My heart raced, my body trembling—perhaps from weakness or the sheer thrill of the moment. Her face lit up my world, but I failed to notice the burly men trailing closely behind her.
Nomil seemed hesitant, her movements uncertain, but she shook her head as if resolving herself and met my excited gaze with a forced smile. Before I could reach her or say a word, the men surrounded me. Weak from the journey, I had no strength to resist as they grabbed me, dragging me away like a lifeless dog. Nomil watched, her expression devoid of emotion, as I, panicked and terrified, was pulled into a vehicle. As it drove off, she turned and walked back to the college, as if nothing had happened.
Inside the vehicle, I pleaded desperately. "I'm innocent! I just thought she looked familiar and wanted to talk to her. I don't even know her! Please, let me go—I didn't do anything wrong!" My hands instinctively shielded the most sensitive parts of my body.
They didn't care. The men struck me relentlessly, taking pleasure in my pain. They hurled insults at my mother and family, their words as brutal as their fists. I had no strength left, using every ounce of energy to protect my vital areas.
Eventually, they grew tired and pulled out alcohol, drinking as they continued to mock me. "You low-life scum from South India," one sneered. "You dared to chase a woman from our region? Do you want to die that badly, you bastard?" A sharp kick landed in my stomach, doubling me over in agony.
After their break, the second round of beatings began, fiercer and more reckless than before. I couldn't keep up, my body screaming in pain. I nearly lost consciousness several times, but sheer willpower kept me clinging to awareness, enduring the torment.
Exhausted and burning with a fever, my body was battered, my nose and other parts bleeding profusely. My eyelids grew heavy, and a single thought consumed me: if I close my eyes, this suffering will end. But I knew what would happen if I let go—I knew the fate that awaited me.
This so-called "unity in diversity" is a lie. From the beginning, there has never been true unity in this country.
The vehicle finally stopped on the outskirts of Jaipur, far from the capital in a secluded area. The thugs stepped out, stretching their limbs as if taking a casual break.
"Brother Gaurav," said a short-haired thug, "this South Indian bastard has finally lost consciousness."
Gaurav nodded. "Good. He won't struggle now. We can finish him with one strike." He made a slicing motion across his throat.
"Haha, yeah, let's do it," the short-haired thug replied, pulling a knife from his clothes. He gestured for the others to hold me tightly, his eyes gleaming with menace.
A sharp pain seared through my throat. Before I could fully regain consciousness, I lost it completely. My body lay motionless on the ground, tears of pain, suffering, and regret sliding down my face.
"Done," the short-haired thug said, wiping the blood from his knife.
"We can't stay here," Gaurav said, his face emotionless. "Wipe the blood from his throat. As planned, we'll stage it as a suicide. Carry him to the railway tracks."
The others nodded, hoisting my lifeless body and tossing it onto the tracks before disappearing as if nothing had happened. In the desolate outskirts, far from any living soul, my body lay motionless. It didn't take long for a passing train to mangle it into a bloody paste, leaving it for crows and stray dogs to feast upon.
Inside the void…
The emptiness enveloped me, yet I felt no pain or suffocation—only peace, a stark contrast to the agony of moments before.
Is this what the afterlife looks like? So empty, so desolate. Did I really lose my life at the hands of those wretched bastards?
His thoughts drifted through the void, mingling with the weightlessness of his body. If there's a next life, let me be born into a wealthy family where money is no concern. And please, not in this filthy country, devoid of anything worthwhile.
Suddenly, his head spun, and he felt as though he were moving faster than light itself. In the next moment, a sharp knock at a door jolted him. He sat up on a bed, his head still reeling, his mind in a daze.
Acting on instinct, he reached for the glass of water beside his bed, his muscle memory guiding his hand. He gulped it down in one go.
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