Chapter Three

Given that I had given up on being a doctor, my second choice was a degree in physiotherapy. It was a practical decision; it would allow me to make money while still staying in the medical field. The change from medicine to physiotherapy seemed like a concession I had to grant my ambitions for the sake of reality. Though feeling let down, I immersed myself into these studies and resolved to get the best out of my new path.

It was during these years at university that I came across her for the first time. Her name is Sara, and she brightened up my life when I needed it most, having been under constant financial stress and academic failures. With her gleaming eyes and catchy laughter she stood out as a contrast between what was happening around me and that which was happening with me. We met at an ordinary place – students’ meeting room – where we started talking about simple things but soon discovered that we could converse on much more serious topics than we had thought possible.

Anyway, those small chats were great though short. We could take lunch together whenever the school schedule allowed it. Such moments brought us closer and gave way to long discussions about what we hoped and feared in life. Despite our bond, I sensed a gap between us. She was from an extremely rich and influential family, and thus her future seemed guaranteed. What bothered me was the fact that it was just a money problem and that I was not fulfilling my potential. I have always been troubled by this difference between our circumstances throughout my life, and I have always felt so inferior to her.

Knowing Sara was there, though an comfort, was also something that at times made me very sad. All the talks we shared reminded me of what I couldn't give her: stability and security. All these short times with her were always burdened by the knowledge that they would not last if real life stepped in.

I had taken up a job as a writer to support myself during that tumultuous time. It was spasmodic work, sometimes providing an adequate income and at others, provender of nothing but aggravation. Algorithms and automated content generators threw the writing world topsy-turvy with the invasion of artificial intelligence. All this precariousness of my job, due to constant threats of technological obsolescence, only added to the pressures upon me.

Yet, against all odds, I still held on to that hope that somehow one day things would turn around. Writing was to be my way out from all the harsh realities brought upon me, something unpredictable. It was a means of expressing me and my thoughts, my frustrations with the industry upon which I depended, while it was being ravaged by technological advancement.

My memories of Sara became a solace and a reminder as the world outside crumbled. Akhil, the person I used to be, now sounded like an echo from a distance, replaced by a new identity hammered out at the crucible of hardship and loss. The name Rex symbolized a survivalist mentality—a far cry from the hopeful student I once was.

Every night, I lay down to sleep, ready for another confrontation with the dead, and my thoughts of the past stayed with me. They reminded me of that particular time when life was bounded by its problems, not struggles for survival. I clung to these memories as I strayed into the desolate reality of the apocalypse, knowing it to be my burden and strength.

The candle flickered, and with night deepening, I steeled myself against whatever was to come. A past weighing on me gave the will to stand against any new challenge. In a world gone mad into darkness, the echoes of my former life guided me, even as I struggled to make out a future in those ruins.

Moreover I had someone to worry about. Sara, she was out there, counting upon my ability to rescue her from those bastardly hands that had torn her from my life.

Night began to set in, almost so still as to muffle the world with an oppressive quietude. The house stood, one of familiarity and safety, transformed now into a fortress of solitude amidst desolation. The only sounds were the occasional far-off groan from some errant zombie and, worse, faint little house-settling creaks in the cold. My makeshift defenses—a patchwork job of cans, tripwires, and rigged radio—stood silent but vigilant.

I sat on a improvised bed of blankets and old pillows, feeling the weight of thought heavily upon my shoulders. The candle wavered softly; its long, wavering shadows on the wall danced mockingly at the uncertainty of my condition. I breathed in strongly, allowing the quiescence of the room for a moment to pacify the turmoil inside me. This was one of those rare moments of peace—fleeting and fragile.

The memories of my past life were like some echoing sound from a faraway distance—fading but always there. My old self, Akhil, had been a student with dreams of becoming a doctor. Now, the name Rex symbolized my transformation—a survivalist hammered out by a world upside down. It was a jarring transition from hopeful student to battle-hardened survivor, and it was a path I had to walk.

It was only then that the image of Sara came to my mind, the girl who turned out to be my first sign of hope in this deadly world. We met after the apocalypse, when our bond had started to grow in the shadow of chaos and danger. The presence of Sara had been comforting, giving me part of my strength to look beyond mere survival. Her smile, her laughter, was balm to my weary soul. Now, however, those memories were tinged by painful reality—Sara had been kidnapped.

Knowing she was taken gnawed at my mind and soul—the danger and unpredictability, a constant reminder of the new world. I had been helpless to stop it, and the thought of her being in the clutches of whoever took her lay heavy on my conscience. That gave me a sense of purpose in times that had hardly any left: the urgency to find her and return her home.The dropping flame of the candle lowered the irregular shadows that had apparently mimicked my turmoil. I turned my head backward to the path that brought me here. It was a fight to survive, one that kidnapped my dreams but also infused a resilience that I never knew I had. There lay a vast difference between my then and now; and for that very reason, it reminded me of my adaptability and strength.

I stood and crossed to the window, looking out into the darkness. Still quiet out there, except when some stray zombie shuffling along the street broke the silence. Night was a chalice and a challenge—soothing in its concealment while being dangerous in and of itself. Every moment of peace merely presented another opportunity to prepare for unknown eventualities.

The candle finally gave up, and the room was plunged into darkness. At that moment, the silence was deep, resonating with isolation and resolution that I had by now become familiar with. I lay down, weighed down by thoughts. The absence of Sara was an omission that could not be ignored; it had turned into the engine that pushed me forward.

I closed my eyes and braced myself for what lay ahead. The past had molded me, but it would not define my future. The struggle and the loss were part of my journey, but they would not be its finale. I was finally through that life chapter of hardship and heartache, and a new one was ready. It was that kind of chapter where I'd fight on, endure, and look out for hope beyond darkness.

With a whole night lying ahead, I stood firm for whatever it would bring, armed with the strength drawn from memory and a will to find Sara—to stand insistently on that future we'd imagined. And in the quiet of that moment, I was open to loneliness and to the resolve that came from it. Outside my window lay a world in ruin, uncertainties, but inside whipped a whirlwind need to live, fight, and not give up.