Chapter 6: The Board Exam and Beyond

As my weaknesses were gradually filled, the time I spent looping grew shorter and shorter.

After 2,324 days, I finally reached the board exams. The pressure was immense. Relatives called from every corner of the country, offering tips, blessings, and unsolicited advice. My mother fasted on Thursdays, praying to Sai Baba for my success.

At that moment, I seemed to understand the purpose behind the loop’s strict requirements for each monthly test. It wasn’t just about marks—it was about real mastery, about understanding. In India, we talk so much about 'padhai', but no one tells you how much it takes to truly learn.

Sitting in the exam hall, looking at the questions that had once given me such headaches, a strange feeling washed over me—relaxation, even boredom. The invigilator, sweating under his polyester shirt, paced up and down the aisles. I barely noticed.

The knowledge I had explored, studied, and memorised countless times seemed engraved into my mind, becoming instinct. Answering required no thought at all—it was like mechanically copying words onto the paper. My fingers moved as if on autopilot.

As I realized I might be free, I noticed a bead of sweat rolling down the invigilator’s temple, the scratch of a pen two rows behind me—the world felt solid, unyielding, real. I even felt that, this time, I wouldn’t need to loop again. The bell rang, and instead of anxiety, I felt only a gentle calm.

And I was right. After the board exams ended, I wasn’t pulled back to a week before. The world stayed the same—the same sunlight, the same faces, the same tired invigilator collecting answer sheets.

This was the only exam I passed on my own, without relying on time travel. The only one that truly belonged to me.

On the day the results were announced, I didn’t check my marks excitedly like the others. After all, I already knew what it would be. Amma’s hands shook as she tried to log into the results portal, the server crashing every few minutes. Papa called all the uncles and aunties, updating them on my progress.

As expected, my marks were placed in a confidential file—this level of achievement couldn’t be looked up online. The principal called home, offering congratulations. My father distributed sweets to the neighbours, his voice booming with pride.

My parents were overjoyed, proudly showing off my supposed genius to all our relatives and friends. I played along, displaying just the right amount of surprise. The WhatsApp family group exploded with messages and stickers. My grandmother did a small puja, lighting an extra diya for my 'bright future.'

After decades of looping, I had mastered the art of acting. The outside world couldn’t solve my problem; letting anyone notice anything unusual would only bring more trouble. I could only hide my exhaustion and weariness behind the facade of a normal student. Even during interviews, I smiled and answered politely, never letting the mask slip.

But while everyone else was still celebrating this miracle, my heart was as calm as still water. Through countless loops, my drive and innocence had long since been worn away. I had become a shell, moving through the motions.

Reporters’ interviews, the fierce competition between IIT and AIIMS admissions teams, waves of rarely seen relatives visiting one after another... None of it interested me in the slightest. Even the gift hampers sent by coaching centres—pens, notebooks, sweets—were left unopened.

Everyone seemed thrilled for my brilliant future, as if I were the embodiment of this victory. But only I knew that all of it was just the result of endless repetition. Their pride stung like salt on an old wound.

What truly troubled me was the next choice.

The time loop hadn’t ended.

When I opened my laptop to fill out my college application, a sense of unease crept over me. My fingers hesitated above the keyboard. The blue glow of the screen reflected in my tired eyes. My fears were soon confirmed—every time I chose the wrong stream, the time loop would send me back to the moment I opened the application page.

Every time the cursor blinked, it felt like a heartbeat counting down to another failure. My fingers ached from clicking, but I couldn’t stop. The first time, I chose Computer Science. Before the words "Submission Successful" could even let me release the mouse, my vision spun. The laptop fan whirred, as if in protest, and I was flung back to square one.

When I came to, time had returned to the moment I opened the webpage. The cursor blinked accusingly at me.

Subsequent attempts were the same: Finance, Law, Philosophy, Medicine... Every stream I could think of was rejected by the loop. The choices became a torture, each rejection leaving me more drained. My parents’ voices—'Beta, doctor ban jao, engineer ban jao'—echoed in my head.

Clearly, the time loop had a will of its own. It seemed to be guiding me towards a specific direction. As if some invisible hand was turning the pages of my destiny.

What exactly did it want?

I kept trying and failing, testing every possibility. Each time I clicked the mouse, I held a bit of hope—only to be sent back to the starting point again and again. The world outside moved on—neighbours' children left for college, friends moved to other cities. Only I remained stuck.

During that period, I spent nearly every day caught between filling out the application and looping, until I was completely drained. My mother grew worried—'Rohan, tu theek toh hai na?' I could only nod, hiding the truth once again.

Finally, when I clicked on Aerospace Engineering, the screen displayed a large "Application Successful."

No abnormalities at all.

This time, the time loop didn’t interfere. The world was still. The street outside hummed with life—rickshaws honking, neighbours' children playing cricket. For once, I felt the weight of destiny shift.

I was stunned.

Why did the time loop want me to choose this stream?

Is my mission to lead India to Mars?

Or is this all just some random choice? Somewhere outside, a kite tangled in the telephone wires, fluttering stubbornly against the wind. Maybe that was me, finally cut loose. The question lingered, unanswered, as the world outside continued, utterly unaware of the battle I had fought and the strange future waiting for me.