The hospital ceiling was a blur—white, sterile, and humming with soft fluorescent light. I wasn’t supposed to be awake. Not after what happened.
The fire was burning and the house collapsed. It all burned. And the memories of my daughter fading away.
I was the only one who made it out, but barely. My skin carried stories now—charred, blistered lines across my chest and arms. The doctors said I might not wake up again. “Comatose, critical,” they’d muttered. Words meant for family, meant for closure.
But dreams have their own agenda.
That night, or day—I don’t even know when—I drifted into something deeper than a dream. Somewhere between sleep and death. A weightless, voiceless place.
And in the middle of that endless blackness, she appeared.
A woman, her hair was tied in a loose ponytail. She was my wife. She stood in a soft white light. And beside her was a person, a replica of mine.
She looked at my reflection and said, “Our daughter is still alive.”
I blinked.
“What?” Voice of my reflection echoed in that void.
“She will breathe again… in 2035. Somewhere in the multiverse.” My wife whispered.
I tried to move. To ask. To scream. But everything spun— And then—I gasped.
Monitors beeped frantically.
Nurses dropped their clipboards. One even shrieked. A doctor rushed in, eyes wide. “He’s awake!”
I sat up, still coughing, still reeking of burnt flesh and medicine. The bandages rustled around me like old leaves.
“She’s alive,” I whispered.
“Sir, what are you talking about?” the doctor asked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Because I knew exactly what I had to do.
I left the hospital two days later against everyone’s orders. My legs were weak. My breath was short. But something stronger pulled me—hope.
I returned to the burnt ruins of my old house. The fire had turned it to a skeleton—walls caved in, memories half-eaten by smoke. But beneath all of it, something was hidden.
Something I never told anyone about.
In the basement, behind the charred remains of the old washing machine, I pulled up the stone tiles. And there it was: a rusted, oval-shaped pod.
My private experiment which was nothing but a failure.
A prototype built from decades of research. It wasn’t meant for travel. It was meant for recovery—a bridge between time and memory, made of unstable particles, forbidden tech, and grief. I had abandoned it after my wife died. And then, after the fire, I thought it was pointless.
But now...
I dusted off the control panel. Wires dangled like veins. The old console flickered to life. “Multiverse Traverse: Experimental Portal Module.”
It needed fuel—a chemical compound I once designed. Luckily, I had a backup locked in the floor panel. It took me three hours to mix it—my hands shaking, my heart thudding with fear and hope.
“Destination…” the screen blinked.
I typed: 2035-UNV-1X. The numbers were selected by me with hope. Hope, that I could find my daughter.
The system groaned.
And then—
BZZZZZT.
The world warped.
And I vanished.
I landed with a crash. Cold metal. Lights. Sirens.
Around me was a high-tech laboratory—screens everywhere, glowing panels, digital tubes filled with neon liquids.
A sharp alarm blared. “INTRUDER DETECTED.”
I ducked behind an iron cupboard.
Then I saw someone.
It was a young girl wearing a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a backpack. She moved quickly, unplugging a vial—filled with a strange silver-blue liquid—from a sealed cabinet.
“Hey!” I shouted.
She turned, startled. For a moment, our eyes locked.
Then she ran and footsteps echoed.
“Freeze!” a guard shouted.
Security bots clanked in. One of them scanned me. “Unauthorized lifeform! Code Red!”
“What?! No! I’m not with her!” I yelled.
Too late.
They chased both of us.
We ran through steel corridors, glass bridges hanging over neon cities, and tunnels buzzing with anti-gravity drones.
“You idiot!” she screamed. “Why are you chasing me?”
“I’m not! I just ended up here!” I said.
“Well, go back to where you came from!” she shouted.
“You’re stealing something from a lab!” I protested.
“I know my karma, uncle. Leave me!” she barked. Just then, she pulled a stun disc and launched it behind her. The nearest robot exploded in sparks.
“What the hell is going on!?” I cried, ducking as lasers grazed my coat.
“Leave me, idiot!” she snapped.
Finally, we burst into a broken alley and hid behind a dumpster-like pod.
I gasped. She panted.
We stared at each other. Her face was flushed. Eyes angry.
“You could have killed me, uncle,” she muttered.
I noticed her eyes... I froze for a second, unsure.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
She wiped her face. “Why do you wanna know? A policeman, huh? Then get out of my way.”
My breath caught.
“Hey, please… what’s your name?” I whispered.
She blinked, confused. She pulled out the vial again, checked it, and ran off.
“Wait!” I followed.
She darted into an old bungalow—half mechanical, half organic. Vines climbed its chrome walls. A hum filled the air.
Inside, a man sat near a glowing bed, machines beeping around a body lying still.
The man was old. Balding. His face hidden by a shadow. Tubes connected from the walls into a rectangular box filled with glowing yellow chemical mist.
The girl burst in.
“Here!” she shouted, showing him the vial. “I got it. The last dose.”
The man nodded. “Good girl. We’ll try again.”
I crept in silently. One step. Two.
Then I saw it.
The house and the floor was familiar. And the photo frame on the shelf made my heart stop.
This was my house. The old one I lived years ago.
I hid behind the wall, trembling.
The man said, “Let’s insert the chemical into the cognition valve. He might wake this time.”
The girl wiped her eyes. “Please, please let him…”
The mist vaporized. A soft whirr. A heartbeat monitor ticked. Then slowed a flatline appeared.
The man lowered his head. “I’m sorry. His brain activity… it’s over.”
“No,” she whispered.
She stepped toward the body. “Please… let me see his face. Just once.”
The old man hesitated. Then clicked a button.
The face covering slid open with a hiss.
She gasped and staggered back. “What…?”
Her lips trembled.
It was me. My face. My scars. My eyes.
She stumbled. “This… this was my dad?”
The old man turned, alarmed. “Someone’s here.”
The corner table slipped under my foot and crashed to the ground.
They both turned. She stared.
“Anu...” I said, stepping forward. “It’s you?”
She couldn’t move.
“You’re... My dad?” she whispered.
The old man’s jaw dropped. “Are you... from another universe?”
I nodded slowly.
Anu dropped her backpack. “Dad?” Her voice broke.
Tears streamed down her face.
I didn’t answer. I just opened my arms.
She ran to me. She wrapped around me like she was afraid I’d vanish again. She started to sob
“Dad… I missed you…”
“I missed you too, beta…”
We stood there, together.
I ruffled her hairs and chuckled, "Thief of another multiverse.”
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