Same stared at the flickering fluorescent lights of his cubicle, his reflection ghostly against the dark monitor. Twenty-seven years old, and already he felt ancient—a relic of dreams abandoned and potential squandered.
The clock on his computer read 5:47 PM. Seven minutes until he could pretend to have a life outside these grey walls. Seven minutes until he could return to his cramped apartment, heat a frozen dinner, and scroll through social media watching others live the lives he had once envisioned for himself.
His phone buzzed. A reminder: "Meeting with Mr. Patel, 9 AM tomorrow. Quarterly projections due."
Same's stomach churned. Mr. Patel—the man who had promoted him not for his talent, but for his willingness to work weekends, to sacrifice his personal life on the altar of corporate ambition. The man who had promised Same a path to creative freedom, only to chain him to spreadsheets and data entry.
He remembered the dreams of his youth—the novels he had started but never finished, the screenplay that had earned him praise in college, the photography portfolio that had won awards but no clients. He remembered the hope that had once burned so brightly in his chest, before the weight of student loans, rent, and the crushing expectations of his immigrant parents had extinguished it.
He had wanted to be a writer. To tell stories that would move people, change them, make them feel less alone in the universe.
Instead, he was a junior analyst at a marketing firm, crafting PowerPoint presentations for clients who never read them.
"I'm going home," he muttered to no one in particular. His coworkers had already left, as they always did at exactly 6 PM. He was always the last one to leave, or the first one to arrive—a badge of honor that meant nothing.
The bus ride was the same as always. The same faces, the same stops, the same jostling crowd of exhausted commuters. He stared out the window at the city skyline, the buildings blurring together into a grey smudge against the orange sunset.
His apartment was a shoebox on the fifth floor of a building that should have been condemned years ago. The elevator was broken again, so he climbed the stairs, his lungs burning and his legs aching. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The apartment smelled like stale takeout and loneliness. His cat, Milo, greeted him with a disinterested flick of his tail.
Same collapsed onto the couch, the springs groaning in protest. He opened his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He had been trying to write a novel for years—a fantasy epic about a hero who discovers he has the power to reshape reality. But the words wouldn't come. Every time he tried, his mind went blank, filled instead with the monotony of his daily existence.
He closed the laptop and pulled out his phone. A notification popped up: "Memory of the Day."
It was a photo from six years ago, when he had graduated with honors. He was standing between his parents, his mother crying tears of joy, his father smiling with pride. They had sacrificed everything for his education, working multiple jobs to send him to a good school. They had believed in him.
What would they say if they could see him now?
The thought was a knife twisting in his chest.
Same reached for the bottle of whiskey on the shelf—the one he had been saving for a special occasion. Tonight seemed as good a night as any. He poured himself a generous glass and drank it in one gulp, the burn doing nothing to dull the ache inside him.
He thought about his childhood. About the dreams he had nurtured, the stories he had told himself. He had once believed he was destined for greatness. That there was something special about him, something that set him apart from the crowd.
What a fool he had been.
The weeks that followed were a blur of monotony and despair. Same went through the motions of his life—work, home, sleep, repeat—but inside, he was hollow. The spark that had once driven him was gone, extinguished by years of disappointment and self-doubt.
He started drinking more. The whiskey became a nightly ritual, a way to numb the pain. He stopped answering his parents' calls, too ashamed to hear the disappointment in their voices. He stopped eating properly, surviving on coffee and takeout. He stopped sleeping, his mind racing with regrets and what-ifs.
One night, after a particularly brutal day at work—a day when Mr. Patel had berated him in front of the entire team for a mistake that wasn't even his—Same reached his breaking point.
He sat in his apartment, the bottle of whiskey empty at his feet. His laptop was open, a half-finished email to his parents still unsent. He looked at the words on the screen: "I'm sorry I'm not the person you wanted me to be."
He couldn't even finish that.
Same closed his eyes and thought about the plane. He had seen the story on the news a few days ago—a man who had jumped from a commercial flight, his body never recovered. The authorities had called it an accident. But Same knew the truth.
He reached for his phone and searched for flights to his hometown. There was one tomorrow evening. He booked a ticket without thinking, his fingers moving on autopilot.
He didn't know exactly what he was planning. He just knew that he couldn't continue living like this.
The next day, Same went to work as usual. He put on his suit, went through the motions of his meetings, and pretended everything was fine. No one noticed anything different about him. Why would they? He was just the quiet guy in the corner cubicle, the one who never complained.
At 4 PM, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. Instead, he took the elevator down to the lobby and walked out of the building.
The airport was chaos, as always. Same navigated through the crowds with robotic efficiency, checking his bag and going through security. He boarded the plane and found his seat near the back.
He was trembling. His hands shook, his heart raced, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. The man sitting next to him, a middle-aged businessman in an expensive suit, looked at him with concern.
"Are you okay?" the man asked. "You look pale. Are you having a panic attack?"
Same couldn't respond. He just shook his head and stared out the window, watching the ground fall away as the plane took off.
The flight was three hours long. Same spent every minute of it on the edge of his seat, his mind a storm of doubt and fear. He thought about his parents, about the pain he would cause them. He thought about his dreams, about all the stories he would never tell. He thought about his life, and how it had come to this.
By the time the plane began its descent, he had made his decision.
As the pilot announced the final approach, Same stood up. The flight attendant noticed him immediately.
"Sir, please return to your seat," she said, her voice firm but polite. "We're about to land."
Same ignored her. He walked toward the emergency exit at the front of the plane, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Sir, you can't—" the attendant began, but Same was already reaching for the door handle.
The crew was distracted, attending to a passenger in the back who had suffered a stroke. No one stopped him as he pushed open the door.
The wind tore at him, screaming and violent. The cold was absolute. Same looked down at the earth rushing up to meet him, and for one brief moment, he felt a strange sense of peace.
He stepped forward and let himself fall.
Same opened his eyes—or at least, he thought he did. His physical body was gone, but he could still perceive, still feel, still be. He was surrounded by a vast, crimson void—an endless expanse of red light that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
Is this hell? he wondered. He had never been religious, but he had always feared the possibility of an afterlife. The idea of eternal punishment for the mistakes of a brief mortal existence had always seemed absurdly cruel.
And yet, here he was. Waiting for someone to come and judge him.
But no one came. Minutes passed—or maybe hours, or days. Time had no meaning here. Same floated in the void, waiting for the punishment he was certain would come.
Nothing happened.
He grew restless. Confused. He had expected demons, flames, eternal torment. Instead, he found only silence and emptiness.
And then, he felt it—a pull. A gentle tug in a particular direction, as if someone had cast a line into the void and hooked his soul. Same didn't resist. What was the point? He was already dead. If something wanted to consume him or torment him, it would happen regardless.
He let himself be pulled, drifting through the crimson void until he reached a point where the red light began to brighten, becoming almost unbearable. A portal opened before him—a shimmering tear in the fabric of reality, filled with brilliant white light.
Should I go through? he wondered. The pull was irresistible, but there was also something enticing about the light. It felt warm. Safe.
He was sucked through the portal before he could decide.
---
At the Center of the Universe
Deep in the heart of the cosmos, where space and time folded in on themselves, there existed a being that had witnessed the birth and death of countless civilizations. It had no form in the traditional sense—no body, no face, no limbs. It was simply a consciousness, vast and ancient, manifesting as a giant eye that floated in the void between dimensions.
For eons, the Eye had slumbered, waiting. Watching. Observing the endless dance of the universe with detached curiosity.
And then, the portal opened.
The Eye's consciousness flared to life, its iris contracting as it focused on the tiny soul that had been expelled from the portal. It was an insignificant thing—a mortal soul, fragile and fleeting, barely a flicker in the vastness of existence.
But there was something about this soul. Something that intrigued the Eye.
It began to formulate a plan.
---
When Same opened his eyes—again—he was staring directly into the void. And within that void, a giant eye was staring back at him. The eye was massive, larger than any star he had ever seen, its iris a swirling galaxy of colors and patterns. A creepy smile stretched across its surface, curling with an amusement that set his soul trembling.
"W-what are you?" Same stammered, his voice echoing in the emptiness.
The Eye's smile widened. "I am what you call the Eye. I observe. I watch. And occasionally, I intervene."
"I'm dead," Same said, more to himself than to the Eye. "This is... this is some kind of hallucination, isn't it? A dying brain's last gasp."
"Oh, you're very much dead," the Eye said, its voice resonating with a tone that was neither male nor female, young nor old. "But that need not be the end of your story."
Same stared at the Eye, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. "What do you mean?"
The Eye considered him for a moment, its galaxy-eye swirling with thought. "I am a being of immense power, mortal. I have existed since the dawn of creation, and I have witnessed the rise and fall of countless species. But I grow... bored. The universe is vast, but predictable. Patterns repeat. Stories become stale."
Same's confusion deepened. "What does that have to do with me?"
"You are unique," the Eye said. "Not in your power, or your lineage, or your accomplishments. In fact, you are quite ordinary in all those respects. But you are interesting. Your soul carries a certain... spark. A potential that I find captivating."
Same felt a surge of anger. "So this is some kind of joke to you? My death? My suffering? You find it entertaining?"
The Eye's smile didn't waver. "Everything is entertainment, mortal. The universe is a stage, and all beings are merely players. You chose to exit the stage early—a decision I find both tragic and fascinating. But I offer you a second act. A chance to rewrite your script."
Same fell silent, the weight of the Eye's words pressing down on him. "What are you offering?"
"I will grant you five wishes," the Eye said. "Anything you desire. And in return, I will observe your life—your decisions, your growth, your struggles. You will be my experiment. My entertainment. If you succeed, you may have everything you've ever wanted. If you fail..."
The Eye's smile widened. "Well, let's just say I'll have enjoyed the show."
Same's mind raced. Five wishes. Five chances to change everything. It sounded too good to be true.
"And if I refuse?" he asked.
The Eye shrugged—a strange gesture for a being without shoulders. "Then you will forget everything that happened after your death. Your soul will be released to the cycle of Samsara, to be reincarnated in a new body, a new life, with no memory of this conversation. You will simply... continue."
Same thought about it. He thought about his old life—the misery, the regret, the hopelessness. He thought about the dreams he had abandoned, the potential he had wasted. He thought about his parents, and the shame he would feel if he had to face them again.
Five wishes. A second chance.
"I accept," he said.
The Eye's smile gleamed with satisfaction. "Excellent. Then make your wishes, mortal. Choose wisely."
Same closed his eyes and focused. This was it. The moment that would determine the rest of his existence.
"What should I wish for?" he murmured. "What do I truly want?"
The answer came quickly.
"First," he said, opening his eyes, "I wish for photographic memory. The ability to remember everything I see, hear, read, or experience with perfect clarity."
The Eye nodded. "Granted."
"I wish for an immortal body and soul," Same continued. "I want to be immune to disease, injury, and death. I want to live as long as I choose."
"Granted," the Eye said, but there was something in its voice—a flicker of surprise. "An ambitious wish."
Same pressed on. "I wish for the ability for perfect comprehension. I want to understand everything—concepts, languages, truths—with absolute clarity."
The Eye's galaxy swirl quickened. "Granted. You are proving to be quite the interesting specimen."
"Fourth," Same said, "I wish for the ability to break the limits of my physical and mental bodies. I want to grow beyond the constraints of ordinary humanity."
"Granted," the Eye said slowly. "This is a dangerous wish, mortal. The limits of humanity exist for a reason."
"And finally," Same said, "I wish that you—the Eye—cannot say no to any of these wishes, and cannot regress or take away any of the abilities or wishes I have requested."
The Eye was silent. For a long, terrifying moment, Same thought he had pushed too far.
Then the Eye laughed—a deep, resonant sound that shook the foundations of existence.
"Clever," the Eye said, its smile returning. "Very clever. You have protected yourself against my interference. I am impressed, mortal. Most beings are too consumed by immediate desires to think so far ahead."
Same felt a surge of triumph. "So you agree?"
"I have no choice," the Eye said, its tone amused. "Your final wish was cleverly worded. I am bound by the rules of this interaction. Your five wishes are granted."
Same felt a change—a profound shift in the fabric of his being. His mind expanded, his perception sharpened, and he could suddenly feel the pulse of the universe around him. He was no longer a simple mortal. He was something more.
"Now," the Eye said, "where and how would you like to reincarnate?"
Same thought carefully. "I want to be reborn in my own world. On Earth. At the time of my birth. And I want to be reborn into my own family, as myself."
The Eye nodded. "A simple choice. Why not somewhere more... exotic? Somewhere with more power to acquire?"
Same shook his head. "I made mistakes in my first life. I want a chance to correct them. I want to see my parents again, to make them proud. I want to live the life I was meant to live."
The Eye's smile was almost wistful. "Sentiment. How... human. Very well. Your soul will be sent back to the moment of your birth. You will retain all your memories and abilities, though they will be dormant until your body matures enough to handle them."
"Thank you," Same said.
The Eye's iris swirled one final time. "It is time, mortal. Your new life awaits. Do not disappoint me."