Chapter 1 — When the Sky Still Smiled
Aarav believed happiness was permanent. It lived in small things—his mother humming while cooking, the clink of steel plates at dinner, his father pretending to read the newspaper while secretly listening to their conversations. The apartment was never quiet, never lonely. Even silence felt safe there.
Mornings were rushed but familiar. School uniform half-ironed. Tea too hot. His mother scolding him for being late, then packing extra food anyway. His father walking him to the door, reminding him—every single day—that marks mattered less than character. Aarav was fifteen. His biggest fear was disappointing his parents. His biggest dream was still undefined. Life was ordinary. And that was perfect.
The first sign came on a normal evening. Aarav stood on the balcony when he noticed the sky looked different. Not darker. Not brighter. Just uneasy. A thin glowing line rested near the horizon, like a wound stitched into the heavens. He mentioned it at dinner. His father shrugged, calling it a satellite. His mother smiled and told him to eat. They laughed. That night, Aarav dreamed of falling.
The news changed tone within days. Scientists replaced anchors. Words like trajectory and probability filled the screen. The line in the sky grew brighter, thicker, impossible to ignore. The word asteroid entered every home—first whispered, then repeated, then screamed. Sirens became normal. Still, inside their apartment, Aarav's family stayed together. They talked. They ate. They pretended.
Until the evacuation notice arrived. Priority Evacuation: Limited Seats. Youth First. Aarav read it again and again until his hands shook. He refused immediately. He said they would go together. His mother's eyes were already red. His father turned off the television. There wasn't room, he said. There wasn't time. The walls felt closer. The air heavier. Aarav argued, begged, promised. His parents listened in silence.
His mother finally hugged him, tight enough to hurt. "You are not staying," she whispered. His father placed a steady hand on Aarav's head. "Whatever happens," he said, voice firm and final, "you survive." The words sounded like a goodbye disguised as advice.
The launch site was chaos. Families broke apart. Children cried. Adults pretended not to. Aarav kept looking back, afraid his parents would vanish if he blinked. At the gate, they stopped. His mother pressed a small pendant into his palm, something he'd never seen before. "So you don't forget us," she said, smiling through tears. His father didn't smile.
He just said, "Live well."
The shuttle doors closed. Engines roared. Through the glass, Aarav watched his parents grow smaller. He couldn't wave. Above Earth, the asteroid loomed—silent, massive, inevitable. As the shuttle climbed, Earth faded into darkness. Something inside Aarav cracked—not fear, but something colder. And somewhere in that darkness, unseen and waiting, fate took notice of a boy just before the sky stopped smiling.