A true story of survival, loss, recovery, and finding purpose after a single moment changed everything.
No one wakes up expecting an ordinary day to become the day that changes everything. Life doesn’t warn us. It doesn’t pause to let us prepare. It simply moves forward, quietly and without permission, until one unexpected moment divides our life into two parts—
Everything that came before, and Everything that came after.
For me, that moment began on the morning of 5th March 2026.
What started as just another ride to work would become a memory I have replayed countless times—not because I want to remember it, but because some moments never truly leave you.
5th March 2026
This day doesn’t belong to a single version of the story. It contains three.
Version 1 — With a Smiling Face and a Laughing Face
Someone is telling the story of what happened.
The ending is tragic, but to show no fear and make it sound laughable, this version of the story was created.
A smile. A laugh. As if nothing really happened.
Version 2 — Don’t Tell the Full Story
Not to say the whole thing.
Just tell them what happened. Give them an excuse. Say that luck wasn’t on my side. Say that these things happen. So, relax.
Sometimes bad things happen. There’s no need to take tension.
The purpose is simple: make sure the tension doesn’t appear on the face of the person hearing the story.
Make it seem normal. Make it seem like it wasn’t that serious. Even though the person who was injured knows exactly what really happened.
Version 3 — The Hard Version
This is the hardest version because you know everything that you were going through. You know how many people were watching you. You know what could have happened if you had cried and told them the real story.
So you hide your face somewhere beneath the surface, and a fake face emerges.
A face that says: Nothing happened. I’m fine. But deep down, you’re crying. Alone.
And sometimes, completely left alone.
This story is about Version 3.
What I did. What I didn’t do. What I felt and what I couldn’t tell anyone.
Everything you have read so far was calm before the actual storm.
5th March
8:15 AM
I checked everything inside my bag. Then I checked my pockets one last time—to make sure I had my headphones, mobile, wallet and room key.
While tying my shoelaces, I was constantly talking to my parents. We discussed whether I had taken the fruits, whether I had ironed my clothes, and whether I would be returning home on the night of the 7th or the morning of the 8th.
My first posting was 165 kilometres away from home. So whenever I had just one day of leave, I wouldn’t travel home. But my new office was only 55 kilometres away. So yes, I told them I would be coming back.
I took my helmet. Before leaving the hallway, I paused for a moment and prayed to God. “Make all things good.”
I started going down the stairs. And there they were.
My two dogs—Oscar and Kalu—were roaming around my legs.
Oscar was jumping at me, as he always does with everyone, probably hoping for his banana treat.
Kalu came towards me first. Then he went back to his bed. He looked sick. After the Holi celebrations, I felt that something wasn’t quite right with him. Seeing him like that made me feel bad. For a moment, I didn’t feel like going to the office. But I had to go.
So I walked over to Kalu, patted his head and asked him if he was feeling better. He looked at me and wagged his curled tail.
A small gesture.
A gesture of love.
I went near my bike, put my phone on the mobile holder and started it. Before leaving through the main gate, I turned back and said goodbye to my mother. Then I left.
My father followed me on his scooty. He had to get some milk so that they could make their morning tea.
Nothing felt unusual. It was just another morning. At least, that’s what I thought.
8:35 AM
That day, the weather was beautiful.
The sun was already up in the sky, but there wasn’t much heat. And because it was the day after Holi, there was less traffic than usual. I was riding my bike with my headphones on, listening to 90s retro music on YouTube.
About 20 kilometres from home, there was a particular spot that had a tea shop. It was the last tea shop before the valley road began. I always stopped there. One cup of tea. Then the journey continued.
It had become part of my routine before going to work.
That morning, while riding, I thought about stopping there as usual.
8:55 AM
I reached the shop. It was closed. The owner told me that the workers were on leave. I felt sad and disheartened. Now I had to ride for almost another 30 kilometres before I could find the next tea stall.
I put my headphones into my bag, placed my mobile phone in my jeans pocket, started the bike and continued my journey. I lowered the visor of my helmet and fastened it.
Then I entered the valley road. There was hardly anyone around. And something changed inside me.
My adrenaline kicked in. The road was empty. During the first part of the ride, I maintained a speed of around 60–65 km/h.
Now I was riding at around 105 km/h. The feeling was exciting. The empty road. The bike.
The speed. The music is still playing in my head. I crossed my previous top speed of 108 km/h. That day, I reached 115 km/h. But as the straight road ended, I started slowing down. Around 70 km/h. Then the curves began. I always took precautions on these roads. Some curves were normal.
Some were much sharper. Some felt almost like a complete 180-degree turn. So I slowed down to somewhere between 40 and 60 km/h while passing them.
One curve. Then another. Then another. And slowly, traffic started appearing.
I found myself behind a man, probably around forty years old, riding a motorcycle. I followed him for almost two kilometres. I was singing along with my favourite song while riding. Then I decided to overtake him.
My office started at 10:00 AM.
It was already around 9:05 .
I increased my speed. A truck appeared from the opposite direction. I slowed down.
Then I increased the speed again. A small sedan appeared.
I saw it and thought: The road is empty. Everyone is speeding anyway. Still, I kept an eye on my bike’s RPM. I usually watched it carefully. It was somewhere around 5,000 to 6,000 RPM.
I continued riding.
Then the curves started again. I crossed the first one. Then came the second. And then—
Time froze.
With a blink of an eye, I saw an image that I can still see today. The curve. The valley on the left. The person riding the bike directly in front of me. A two-lane road. A pickup trailer coming from the opposite direction.
And behind that pickup trailer—an SUV.
The SUV was moving fast, trying to overtake the pickup trailer. It was now parallel with the trailer on a two-lane road.
Take a moment. Relax. And imagine that scene.
Because once you do, you will understand how horrifying that image was.
Even today, that image feels real.
Sometimes, it comes back in a way that affects me psychologically. I’ll tell you about that later.
But for now, let’s go back to that moment.
The SUV missed the motorcycle in front of me by only a few inches. The person riding it lost control. I could see him trying desperately to handle the bike. But then the SUV came toward me. It wasn’t turning with the road anymore. It was coming straight at me. Straight toward me. Something happened inside my body. An impulse. A sudden freeze. I couldn’t move the bike. I couldn’t turn. I couldn’t do anything.
For a fraction of a second, everything stopped. And then—
BOOM!
I can still hear that sound. Even today. Just like that day.
The SUV hit me in the leg. The impact threw me into the driver’s side of the car. I hit the driver’s side mirror. The mirror broke. And somehow, I carried pieces of it with me as I went down. Everything happened in an instant. One moment, I was riding my bike. The next, I was in an accident that could have ended my life.
And that’s why I call it: The Day the Boy Should Have Died
Because if that SUV had hit the motorcycle in front of me instead of missing it by those few inches, I don’t know what would have happened to him.
And if the SUV had struck me differently— I might not be here to tell this story. I don’t know what happened that day. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was timing. Maybe it was something beyond my understanding.
All I know is that I survived.
But when I look back at that moment, I don’t think about the broken mirror first. I don’t think about the bike. I don’t even think about the pain. I think about those few seconds.
The bike in front of me. The pickup trailer. The SUV. The valley beside me. And the road that suddenly seemed too small for all of us.
A few inches separated what happened from what could have happened.
Version 1 would laugh about it. Version 2 would call it bad luck and say, “It’s okay. These things happen.” But Version 3 knows the truth.
That morning, I didn’t just have an accident. I came face-to-face with the possibility of not going home that day. And that is why I call it—
The Day the Boy Should Have Died. Because he didn’t. He survived. But surviving that day was not the end of the story.
It was the beginning of everything that came after.