As the black jar reached the brim, Ayaan realized something terrifying: his life wasn't a series of big events, but a million tiny choices. He begged for one last memory.
CG leaned back. "The game is a draw. But here’s the thing about the afterlife, Ayaan—we don't decide your fate. You do. If I send you back, will the jars look the same in forty years?" As the black jar reached the brim, Ayaan
He saw himself as a teenager, helping an old man cross a flooded street, ruining his own expensive shoes in the process. A flurry of white pebbles poured into the jar. It was a tie. "The game is a draw
He didn't see CG or the jars anymore. He only saw his wife holding his hand, her eyes red from crying. He didn't ask about his phone or his commissions. He simply squeezed her hand and whispered, "Thank God." If I send you back, will the jars