[You have activated the Flower-Breaking System.]
Arahan blinked.
The voice rang inside his head—calm, mechanical, unfamiliar. He looked around in confusion, but the park was quiet. Children played in the distance. The breeze was soft. Nothing seemed out of place.
He rubbed his forehead slowly.
Then, like a dam cracking open, the memory rushed in.
He remembered the road.
An old woman was crossing, slowly, unaware of the car speeding toward her.
He didn't think—he just ran. Shoved her out of the way.
The sound of metal.
The sharp pain that tore through his side.
People are shouting.
The world is fading into darkness.
His breathing turned shallow as he sat still on the bench, staring at the cracked pavement below his feet.
That was the day he died.
But then... Why was he here?
He looked at his hands. He wasn't hurt. He was alive.
Then, slowly, his memory of this life began to return.
He was in a small village named Varnaour, in the country of Hindia.
His world felt real. The sun was warm. The dust on his slippers was real. The plastic bag tucked beside him had today's groceries in it.
This life was simple.
He worked as a teacher's assistant in the village school. His monthly pay was ₹5000—not enough for much, but enough to get by.
In the evenings, he tutored small children—mostly those in class 5 or below—to earn a little extra.
Their families couldn't pay much, but he never complained. It helped cover rent and tea leaves.
He lived in a rented one-room house, with tin sheets on top and cracks in the wall. Rain leaked through some nights, but it was home.
---
A dry leaf drifted down onto Arahan's knee. He brushed it away, still lost in thought, when his eyes caught the time on the old tower clock near the temple.
4:42 PM.
His eyes widened.
"Ah, class…"
He stood up quickly, grabbing the plastic bag and slinging it under his arm. Dust rose from beneath his slippers as he stepped off the path and hurried down the narrow lane.
It was time.
He had promised to reach Akash's house by five.
The boy's mother had asked him to help with Maths and English—standard 3 syllabus—but Akash was a slow learner.
Arahan had no heart to turn her down. She paid him ₹200 a month, in small notes, and often sent him home with warm roti or leftover curry.
The houses grew closer together as he passed through the village's older section.
Cracked walls, faded paint, the sharp smell of cow dung and wood smoke—it was all familiar. He waved at a passing uncle cycling by, then dodged a stray goat blocking the path.
The road narrowed as Arahan turned left from the market square, entering the older part of the village—the Muslim locality of Varnapur.
Houses stood close together, doors painted in faded green or blue.
Children played cricket in the lane with a rubber ball. The sound of evening azan floated faintly from the masjid nearby.
He passed familiar faces—Rafiq chacha sitting with his glass of tea, Amina baji sweeping the front of her house. They nodded at Arahan politely as he walked by.
At the far end of the lane stood a modest one-story house with a small courtyard and a neem tree outside. This was Akash's home.
It wasn't always theirs.
Geetanjali, Akash's mother, was Hindu, but she had been living in this area for several years now. Though this part of the village was almost entirely Muslim, she was never made to feel like an outsider.
She greeted her neighbors with a smile, spoke their language, and carried herself with quiet dignity. Over time, the community accepted her and her son without question.
But life hadn't always been kind to her.
This house had been bought by her late husband a few years ago. They never intended to live here—it was meant as an investment, nothing more.
But after a brutal family dispute over ancestral land, everything changed.
Her husband was killed by his own brother.
With nowhere else to go, and no one left to trust, Geetanjali moved into the very house they once planned to sell. Here, surrounded by strangers of another faith, she found something unexpected.
Peace.
Nobody bothered her. No one asked questions. She and Akash lived quietly. She stitched clothes for a living, kept her son in school, and taught him to always respect those around him—no matter who they were.
Now, Arahan pushed open the gate gently. The creak of iron was familiar.
Geetanjali hears the gate creak and looks up from the cloth she's stitching. Her eyes light up at the sight of you. "Arahan! You're here."
She sets aside her work and rises gracefully, her sari rustling softly. As she approaches, you notice the way the fading sunlight catches in her hair, making it shimmer like polished ebony.
"Akash is inside. He's been waiting for you," she says, her voice warm and melodic. "Come, come inside."
She gestures for you to enter, stepping aside to let you pass. As you do, you catch a whiff of her fragrance—something sweet and floral that lingers in the air.
"Akash!" Geetanjali calls out as she closes the door behind you. "Arahan is here."
The sound of footsteps echoes from within the house, growing louder as Akash approaches.
"Namaste, Arahan uncle,"
Akash greets you with a small bow, his palms pressed together in front of his chest. He's a skinny boy, with large eyes and a mop of unruly hair. His school uniform is slightly wrinkled, as if he's been sitting in it all day.
"Arahan uncle, I've been practicing the multiplication tables like you told me," he says eagerly, his voice highpitched with excitement. "Do you want to check?"
Before you can respond, Geetanjali intervenes gently. "Akash, let Arahan uncle settle in first. He's just arrived."
She turns to you with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Arahan. He's been looking forward to your visit all day."
She gestures towards the living room, where a low table is set with books and notebooks. "Please, sit down. Can I get you some chai? I've just made a fresh batch."
As she speaks, she moves gracefully around the room, straightening cushions and clearing away any clutter.
Geetanjali pauses, her hand resting on the back of a chair, and looks at you expectantly. The warm glow of the evening light filtering through the window catches the curve of her cheek, accentuating her beauty.
"I'd love some chai, Geetanjali," you reply, your voice steady despite the sudden flutter in your chest. "Thank you."
She smiles warmly, clearly pleased by your acceptance. "It's no trouble at all. I'll be right back."
With a gentle rustle of her sari, she disappears into the kitchen. Akash watches her go before turning his attention back to you.
"Arahan uncle," he says, his eyes shining with curiosity, "can we start with multiplication? I promise I've been practicing!"
His enthusiasm is infectious, and you can't help but chuckle softly. "Of course, Akash. But first, let's take a look at what you've been working on."
As Akash rushed off to fetch his notebook, Arahan adjusted the cushion beneath him and reached for a pencil.
Then.
[Ding!]
[Flower-Breaking System Activated.]
New task generated.
His fingers froze mid-air.
The air didn't change. The room didn't flicker. The world remained just as it was—warm, simple, peaceful.
But something had definitely appeared in front of his eyes.
A transparent screen hovered faintly, only visible to him:
🌸 Flower-Breaking System 🌸
Host: Arahan
Age: 18
Profession: Village Teacher's Assistant
Level: 1
Health: 5.0 / 10
Stamina: 4
Strength: 3
Agility: 3
Intelligence: 5
Charm: 6
Wealth: ₹48.00
System Wallet: ₹0.00
Relationship Statuses:
— Geetanjali: 5/100 (Warm Acquaintance)
— Others: —
[Task: Accept the chai Geetanjali offers and compliment her sincerely.]
Reward: +0.1 Health | ₹100 | Relationship +1
Note: Repeated sincere gestures can slowly increase mutual affection.
Arahan stared at the panel, blinking once.
Then twice.
The words remained. Soft. Unblinking.
He wasn't hallucinating. The system had returned. And this time, it was… different.
A romance system?
That phrase—"Flower-Breaking"—suddenly felt far more literal than poetic.
He rubbed his temple. He hadn't even done anything yet. The system had triggered from a moment as small as being offered chai?
He nearly scoffed, but caught himself.
Geetanjali's voice floated in from the kitchen, "It'll just be a minute! Akash, are you behaving?"
"Yes, Ma!" Akash shouted back cheerfully.
Arahan exhaled, composing himself. The system's panel still hovered in the corner of his vision, the task waiting patiently.
Accept the chai and compliment her sincerely.
It didn't seem hard. And honestly… what harm could there be?
The boy's notebook flopped open as Akash plopped down beside him, ready to show off his math.
And just then, Geetanjali returned, sari rustling, with two steel cups on a small tray. The scent of strong chai filled the air.
She placed the tray carefully beside him and smiled. "I hope you like it strong. I didn't add too much sugar."
Arahan accepted the cup gently.
His eyes met hers.
And softly, he said, "It smells perfect… just like the chai you used to make on winter mornings. You always remember the details, Bhauji."
There was a small pause.
Then, Geetanjali's cheeks flushed the faintest pink, and she gave a short laugh. "Bas bas, don't flatter me too much. I'm not used to such words."
[Task Completed!]
+0.1 Health
+₹100 (Credited to System Wallet)
+1 Relationship Point with Geetanjali
System Wallet Balance: ₹100
Arahan nearly dropped the cup.
System Wallet?!
Before he could react further, Akash nudged him with the notebook. "Uncle, look! I got all the 3-times table correct!"
Arahan smiled, setting aside the chai for now. "Let's take a look."
But in the corner of his vision, the panel remained—quiet, glowing faintly, waiting for its next bloom.