In the year 2426, the streets of New Mumbai churned with life, a cacophony of steam-powered engines and the relentless clatter of mechanical limbs. The sun, obscured by layers of smog, cast a dim, sickly light over everything. Robots walked among humans, from gleaming metal shells to lifelike androids with soft, warm humanoid features, some even indistinguishable from people on the bustling streets and cherished as trusted companions.
Gigantic brass gears and clockwork mechanisms were visible on the exteriors of buildings, turning endlessly as they powered the city’s many systems. The streets below were a vibrant maze of elevated metal walkways, teeming with life. Both humans and androids dressed in a mix of traditional attire, saris with gear-embellished borders, turbans adorned with small mechanical devices, and goggles perched on foreheads like futuristic tilaks—moved through the throngs. The air was thick with the scent of spices, mingling with the metallic tang of oil and steam, as vendors hawked their goods from stalls that doubled as small mechanical marvels, serving everything from samosas to chai brewed by automated kettles.
Above the city, airships with intricate, Raj-era designs floated through the sky, ferrying passengers and cargo between towering spires that housed everything from workshops for goods and labor to opulent astral-appearing palaces built by the descendants of the Ambani dynasty. These airships, powered by steam engines and outfitted with brass embellishments, were as much works of art as they were modes of transportation.
The city hummed with the sounds of industry—hissing steam, clanking gears, and the distant roar of engines—while sacred cows, now equipped with mechanical enhancements to help them navigate the bustling streets, wandered freely among the crowds, a reminder of the deep-rooted traditions that still permeated this new world.
At night, New Mumbai glowed with an amber light, emitted by gas lamps and bioluminescent plants, which had been genetically engineered to thrive in the industrial environment. Temples, mosques, and gurudwaras offered a quiet refuge from the ceaseless activity, where the faithful could pray to Allah, Buddha, ancient Hindu deities, or Waheguru, seeking blessings for prosperity in the ever-evolving landscape of the city.
* * *
Inside her small apartment on the city’s edge, a woman in her mid-20s named Meera prepared breakfast, her hands trembling as she moved. She was slender with large, expressive brown eyes that once held warmth but now were clouded with worry. Her long, black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, a habit she’d developed to keep it out of the way while she worked. She had a soft, gentle face, but it was etched with lines of stress and fear, a stark contrast to the vibrant young woman she had once been. Once upon a time, she dreamed of a happy marriage and a future filled with joy. But that was before the man she married turned into someone she hardly recognized.
When Meera first met Rishi waiting for her airship to college on the outskirts of New Mumbai, he was everything she and her parents had ever dreamed of. Handsome, successful, and polite, he seemed to fit perfectly into the ideal image of a son-in-law. He charmed everyone with his kind words and was always respectful to her parents, making Meera feel special. He would bring garlands of jasmine when visiting her family, praise her mother’s cooking, and engage in thoughtful conversations with her father about the future he wanted after marriage. He was in every sense, the perfect partner. But three months after the wedding, everything changed.
Slowly, the man who had once been so gentle and kind began to show another side—a darker, more controlling side. He would make passive-aggressive remarks about her spending too much time with her friends, accusing her of having feelings for her platonic male friends and vice versa, critiquing her looks or weight, or questioning her decisions in ways that made her always feel like she was constantly doing something wrong.
The first time Rishi raised his voice, it caught Meera completely off guard. They had been married for a few months when he snapped at her for not having dinner ready on time.“What have you been doing all day, Meera?” he growled, his voice sharp with irritation. “You can’t even get something as simple as a meal prepared?”
She flinched at his tone, unsure of how to respond and hoping that he was just acting out because he had a rough day at the hospital where he worked. After that, his temper flared more frequently. He continued to criticize her cooking, or tell her she wasn’t doing enough to keep the house clean, or snap at her over minor things. Meera would make excuses, telling herself he was just tired or stressed from work. But soon, the shouting turned into cruel words, cutting remarks that left her feeling small and helpless.
And then he hit her for the first time.
Soon after, she found out she was pregnant, and she remembered pretending to be happy. The one good thing that came out of that was that Rishi did not hit her during her pregnancy and she saw his nurturing side come back. Maybe this was just a rough patch, she thought. She actually did start being happy when Asha was born, and hoped that Rishi would change now that he had a child, but he reverted back to how he was. It was an entirely different story when she was pregnant with Rani. Now, she lived in a constant state of fear, her every move scrutinized, her every word measured.
The door creaked open, and Rishi stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the room. He was a tall man with a commanding presence, broad-shouldered and solidly built. His dark, piercing eyes swept over the scene with a cold, calculating gaze. His jaw was set in a perpetual scowl, and his lips twisted cruelly as they met Meera’s gaze. She straightened her posture, her hands smoothing the fabric of her sari as she tried to make herself small, inconspicuous.
“Breakfast isn’t ready yet?” Rishi’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “What have you been doing all morning? You can’t even manage a simple meal on time?”
She had heard this a million times before and she flinched each time, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. “I’m almost done,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rishi sneered, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. “Almost? Almost isn’t good enough. You should see the beautiful women that are after me at the hospital and be grateful I even bother to come home to this bullshit.” She kept her eyes down, nodding mechanically. The breakfast sizzled on the stove, and she focused on not letting the tears spill from her eyes. However, one fell onto the stove anyway, sizzling just like the breakfast.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for anymore. Existing, perhaps. Her mere existence was what seemed to offend Rishi the most. Every day she wished he would follow through with his threats and run off with one of the beautiful women from the hospital, but she silently took it back because she would never truly wish her life on anyone else.
A small noise caught her attention, and she turned to see Asha, her six-year-old daughter, standing in the doorway. Her little girl’s wide, brown eyes were filled with fear, her tiny hands clutching the hem of her dress. Behind her frock, three-year-old Rani peeked out, her thumb in her mouth, sensing the tension even if she didn’t fully understand it.
Rishi’s gaze flicked to the girls, his scowl deepening. “What are you two little idiots staring at? Get out of here, go to your room. I don’t want to see your faces until breakfast is ready.”
Asha hesitated, looking to her mother for guidance, but Meera couldn’t offer her anything more than a weak smile. “Go on, Asha,” she said gently. “Take Rani with you.”
The girls turned and hurried down the narrow hallway, their footsteps echoing in the silence that followed. Meera felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest as she watched them disappear. She wanted to protect them, to shield them from Rishi’s cruelty and name-calling, but after the first time she tried to escape, and after how that ended, she didn’t know what to do anymore.
She remembered seeing on television the other day that it took women in abusive situations seven times to leave. She racked her brain day and night trying to think of a different solution than what she had come up with last time. What she did know though, was that although she knew that if she stayed with him, that she would be hit from time to time, but if he ever raised his hand to either of their daughters, she would find a way to get rid of his existence from the Earth for good.
Meera hurried to finish breakfast, her hands shaking as she served his food. She placed the plate in front of him, careful to avoid his gaze. He took a bite of egg and roti and immediately spat it out, his face contorting in disgust. “What is this? Did you even try it yourself? This is inedible! Do you want to poison me, is that it?”
Her stomach churned with a familiar mix of fear and shame. “I—I’m sorry, Rishi. I’ll make something else.”
“No,” he snapped, pushing the plate away. “Forget it.” He rose from the table quickly, the chair crashing to the floor. He, of course, did not bother to pick it up. “We’re going out to eat. Hurry up and get the girls ready.”
Meera picked up the chair and moved quickly, her hands numb as she prepared Asha and Rani for the outing. She didn’t dare ask where they were going; Rishi’s plans were not hers to question. As they stepped out into the murky air, the girls clung to her, sensing the tension but knowing better than to say anything.
* * *
When people went out into the city, they had to wear gas masks. The air was so thick with pollution that breathing it in without protection was almost unbearable. She pulled her mask over her face, the rubber edges digging into her skin. She helped the girls with theirs, adjusting the straps to fit snugly, before fastening her own. Rishi, as usual, was already halfway to the car, not bothering to wait for them.
Rishi walked several strides ahead of them through the crowded streets, forcing Meera and the children to hurry in order to keep up. The city loomed around them, its towering structures and endless machinery creating a sense of perpetual confinement. Everyone was having trouble breathing, even with the tight gas masks, but Meera or the girls didn’t complain. They had long since learned to keep their discomfort to themselves.
They reached the old, modified car Rishi had insisted on buying—a relic from a bygone era, retrofitted with new technology. He liked to boast about its vintage charm, though it was mere seconds away from falling apart and its lack of safety really just another way for him to show off his control over their lives. Meera and the girls climbed into the backseat, the cold leather seats stiff and unwelcoming.
Rishi’s grip on her was ironclad, both literally and figuratively, extending far beyond their home and into every aspect of her life. He reveled in the power he held over her, controlling her movements, her thoughts, and even her relationships. The financial support he provided to her parents was another chain that bound her, something he never let her forget. “You owe me everything,” he would say, reminding her that without him, her parents would be destitute.
Though they never said it outright, she knew her parents wouldn’t welcome her back without his approval—they had accepted his control over her life as part of the deal when they married her off. Now that they had a decent lifestyle and no longer had to work, they regularly turned a blind eye to her suffering. To be honest, her father was a lot like Rishi, without the hitting.
Isolating Meera was yet another tool in Rishi’s toolbox of abuse. She had no friends—no one wanted to deal with Rishi, and over the years, she had stopped trying to reach out. It was easier to be alone than to face the inevitable rejection or disapproval from people once they found out what her life was really like. She knew that the people in their building heard him screaming and probably whispered about them but she just did her best to turn a blind eye to them just like her parents did to her suffering.
As they drove further into the heart of the city, the oppressive structures of Old Mumbai closed in around them. Steam from the city’s countless machines rose around them like a suffocating fog. The once-vibrant Colaba Causeway was now a shadow of its former self, its iconic markets and old buildings swallowed by towering structures of steel and glass. Meera glanced at Asha and Rani, who sat quietly beside her, their small bodies tense with the same fear that gripped her. They were so young, so innocent, and yet they had already experienced so much pain. They passed Marine Drive, its famous curve now hidden beneath layers of machinery and smog, though the faint outline of the sea beyond was still visible. The road that had once been called “The Queen’s Necklace” now seemed more like a thick steel prison chain tightening around Meera’s neck, pulling her deeper into the life she wanted to escape.
* * *
The towering buildings of Lower Parel that were once home to the city’s oldest textile mills, were now vertical industrial nightmares, their rooftops obscured by fleets of buzzing drones. She watched as airships floated lazily above, their brass hulls gleaming faintly in the dim light filtering through the smog. There had been a time when she had tried to escape on one of those airships.
Months ago, after one particularly brutal night when Rishi’s words had turned into fists, she had packed a small bag, gathered Asha and Rani in the dead of night, and fled. The airships, with their brass-fitted hulls and massive, billowing balloons, were a common sight above the city, casting shadows on the streets below as they drifted silently through the smog, carrying both people and goods.
She had taken an air taxi to the nearest airship docking tower high above the city, a towering structure of wrought iron and copper, its gears and pistons constantly in motion, churning out steam as the ships were tethered and released. She clutched her daughters’ hands tightly, glancing nervously over her shoulder as they ascended the rickety metal stairs leading up to the boarding platform.
Her plan was simple: to board one of the airships bound for the outskirts of the city, far away from Rishi’s reach. From there, she would find passage to a distant district, where she hoped to disappear and start anew. She knew it was risky, but it was her only hope.
As they reached the platform, she saw the airship docked above, its vast balloon gently bobbing in the air, the gangplank extended for boarding. But before they could board, Rishi found them, because without Meera’s knowledge, he had placed a tracking device in the only suitcase she had.
He stormed up the stairs of the docking tower in a rage, his heavy footsteps echoing through the metallic structure. She tried to shield the girls, but it was no use. His grip was unforgiving as he dragged her back down the stairs, his harsh words slicing through the night air like a blade. What she remembered most was how people pretended not to see, going about their daily lives, unwilling to get involved. She wondered if, in their place, she would have reacted the same way. If she had been one of those people, she imagined herself screaming, “Let go of them, you disgusting pig!” and then turning to the bystanders and yelling, “What is wrong with all of you?! How can you be so uncaring?”
Rishi had punished her for daring to run, his blows raining down on her as soon as they returned to their apartment while the girls cried in their room, hearing everything. The pain of his fists was nothing compared to the look in his eyes—cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of empathy. It was a clear message: she would never escape him.
There was nowhere she could go where he wouldn’t find her.
* * *
As Meera sat in the backseat of the car now, her eyes fixed on the city streets outside, she remembered the failed escape and the crushing realization that followed. The airships continued to glide through the skies above, indifferent to her suffering, symbols of a freedom she would possibly never attain. The dread inside her grew with each passing moment, a constant reminder that the life she was trapped in was inescapable. She kept her eyes on the city outside, trying to lose herself in the blur of steam and metal.
Rishi started driving like a madman, swerving in and out of traffic, almost hitting the pedestrians on the sidewalks, seemingly like he had no destination in mind. He asked for water and screamed at her when she said she’d forgotten to bring some.
Then—out of nowhere– the car lurched violently upwards. A force field descended upon the city, and a wave of energy lifted everything not anchored to the ground into the air. The car was yanked off the road, spinning wildly as it climbed higher and higher. Meera clutched her daughters, their terrified screams filling the car. They floated, suspended in the air, the world below shrinking to a distant blur.
Asha’s small voice trembled with fear while Rani screamed. “Mama, what’s happening?”
“I don’t know, babies. Just hold on tight,” she whispered, overwhelmed by her own fear. She glanced at Rishi, seeing his eyes wide with terror in the rearview mirror. For the first time, she saw a man who was utterly helpless, a man who had lost control of the situation, and for once in his life, a man who had nothing to say.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the force field released its grip. The car plummeted back toward Earth, the ground rushing up to meet them with terrifying speed. She grabbed her daughters, bracing for impact. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the world spin around her, the air torn from her lungs as they plunged downwards.The car crashed with the deafening noise of shattered glass and bent metal. It slammed into the roof of a tall building, crumpling like a tin can. Meera jolted forward, the seatbelt biting into her chest, the impact leaving her breathless. She opened her eyes, dazed, then looked around. The car was a twisted wreck, the roof caved in. Her first thought was of her daughters. “Asha? Rani?” she gasped, turning to check on them. They were both crying and covered in blood, but alive. Relief flooded through her, pushing aside the pain and shock.
But then she noticed Rishi. He wasn’t moving. His side of the car had taken the brunt of the impact, the metal crushed around him. Blood trickled from his temple, his head slumped to one side, eerily still. Meera stared at him, waiting for the flood of emotions that should come with such a moment—grief, anger, relief. But all she felt was numb. Asha tugged at her sleeve, her small voice trembling. “Mama, what’s wrong with Papa?”She looked at her daughter, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what she would have to say. But before she could speak, Rani, still too young to fully understand, began to cry loudly. The sound filled the wreckage, echoing off the twisted metal. Asha’s eyes filled with tears, but Meera remained silent, her gaze fixed on the lifeless form of her husband.
Once they were pulled out of the car by rescue crews, she and her daughters were airlifted to Rishi‘s hospital, where she sat numbly as people gave her their condolences about Rishi and told her what a wonderful and charismatic man he had been. She half wanted to laugh at how he had portrayed himself to everybody outside the family as the perfect husband and father, but the rest of her felt too detached and tired to really care.
* * *
At the hospital, lighted signs in Hindi, Marathi, and English flickered above the bustling corridors. Robo-nurses, outfitted with beautifully carved metal kurtas and dhotis, wove through the crowds, their limbs moving with mechanical precision as they administered nano bandages and injected bio-serums. Meera’s medbed hovered slightly above the ground, surrounded by two little medbeds for Asha and Rani. The surface of the medbeds pulsed and rippled beneath them, trying to soothe their pain from the crash. Their robo-nurse, Kajol, remarked that she did not understand how they were relatively unharmed, or even alive, but they were beyond lucky. Meera nodded without saying anything. The chaos outside their room—echoing with voices, prayers, and the constant buzz of technology—was a stark contrast to the storm inside her, where fear, anger, and confusion swirled relentlessly. Kaka
In just a matter of days, they were released from the hospital. When they arrived home there was no electricity so they had to make do with candles, a small oil lamp, and the faint glow of bioluminescent plants for light. The girls fell asleep immediately in their room, exhausted from the week’s events. Her body ached from the impact, but it was the heaviness in her chest that truly weighed her down. She hadn’t cried, not once, not even as she’d led her daughters back through the smoke-filled streets to their apartment. Now, she just sat there, staring at the television set without really seeing it. She turned it on, even though she knew most likely it wouldn’t work, and fell asleep on her sofa.
In the middle of the night, she awoke to the sound of the television flickering to life with a sudden surge of power, its screen buzzing with static before stabilizing into a grainy image. The familiar hum of electricity filled the room as the colors brightened, casting a soft glow that danced across the walls. The sound crackled and then cleared, flooding the apartment with the noise of the outside world once more, as if the entire city had suddenly awakened from a long, silent pause. The news broadcast soon pulled her back to the present, the urgent tone of the anchor’s voice cutting through the haze in her mind.
“Exactly one week ago, South and Southeast Asia experienced a catastrophic event unlike anything we have ever seen, and the city of New Mumbai was hit the hardest,” the anchor began, his voice tense and strained. “At approximately 8:30 AM, a massive, unidentified force field descended over the city, lifting everything not anchored to the ground into the air. This included vehicles, people, and although the vast majority of buildings stayed rooted into the ground, even those inside those buildings were not spared.”
Her eyes focused on the screen as the broadcast cut to footage from across the city. The familiar streets of New Mumbai were shown from surveillance cameras, capturing the moment when chaos erupted. People and androids walked calmly along the sidewalks, some chatting, others absorbed in their tasks. Then, in an instant, everything shifted. Cars and buses floated up from the roads, spinning out of control as they were pulled skyward. All sentient beings on the street, including both humans and robots, screamed and clung to anything they could grab—light poles, benches, each other—but it was futile. They were lifted into the air, their bodies a tangle of both flesh and metal flailing helplessly as they rose higher and higher.
Meera’s breath caught in her throat as the footage continued. The anchor’s voiceover provided grim details. “Even those who were inside buildings were not safe. The force field penetrated walls and roofs, lifting people up inside their homes and workplaces. Although most modern buildings survived, some that were centuries old rose several feet into the air before crashing back down. Many of these buildings have sustained significant damage beyond repair, and the loss of life has been catastrophic.” The screen showed images of shattered glass and crumpled metal, the remains of once-sturdy structures now reduced to ruins. Inside some of the buildings, robots that had been working alongside humans were shown, their metallic bodies broken and scattered across the floors, their once-brilliant lights flickering weakly or extinguished completely.
She watched in horror as the broadcast shifted to scenes of the aftermath. Rescue workers and robots pulled bodies from the wreckage, some next to or still holding the items they had tried to cling to when the force field took hold. The news anchor’s voice continued, a somber undertone threading through his words. “Emergency services are overwhelmed, and hospitals are operating at capacity. Airplanes full of robo-nurses and doctors are being flown in from foreign countries to assist. The death toll is rising by the hour, and the full extent of the damage is still being assessed. Authorities are urging everyone to stay indoors and avoid unnecessary travel. The cause of this disaster remains unknown, and experts are working around the clock to understand what has happened and whether it could happen again.”
She felt a shiver run through her as she realized how close she and the girls had come to being part of that footage. If the car hadn’t crashed into the building when it did, if they hadn’t been lucky enough to survive the fall….She shook her head, trying to dispel the images of what could have been. But the fear lingered, settling deep in her bones. The anchor continued speaking, but his words were drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
The broadcast switched to a government official speaking at a press conference, but she barely heard him. All she could think about was how surreal it all felt—how one moment she had been trapped in her miserable life, and the next, everything had changed. The force field had taken Rishi, had torn him from her life as easily as it had lifted that car into the sky. And now, here she and her daughters were alive somehow, when so many others were not.
The camera panned to scenes of destruction in other parts of Asia, but Meera turned the television off before she could see any more. She sat in the darkened room, the weight of what had happened pressing down on her. For so long, she had felt powerless, trapped in a life that seemed to offer no escape. But now, the impossible had happened. And as terrifying as it had been, it had also set her free. She felt selfish feeling this way when so many others had lost their lives, but eventually, tears of release, of relief, welled up in her eyes. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to cry loudly, her sobs piercing the stillness of the night. She wiped her tears away, breathing deeply as she looked around the small apartment that was now hers alone.
* * *
The months that followed were a blur of adjustments and rebuilding. Although inside the apartment, a new life was beginning, the outside world had changed in ways that even the most advanced technologies couldn’t explain. The force field had left its mark on both Asia as well as the rest of Earth, altering the atmosphere and environment in ways that no one fully understood. The skies grew ever darker than they were before, and in addition to gas masks whenever they ventured outside, everyone in New Mumbai now had to wear respirators, the wealthiest of the wealthy wearing full-body protective suits or exoskeleton suits and the homeless wearing whatever they could get their hands on in order to stay alive. Parks and open spaces, which were never fully safe to begin with, were now either completely shut down or enclosed under vast glass domes that simulated sunlight and housed synthetic trees—a poor, lifeless imitation of the natural world.
At first, she moved through her days in a daze, a surreal numbness filling the void where fear had once lived. Gradually, though, as weeks turned into months, she began to feel something she had almost forgotten existed: hope. It started with small things. The first time she allowed herself to really laugh after Rishi’s death caught her by surprise. She had been watching Asha and Rani play a silly game they’d invented, their giggles echoing through the small apartment, when she felt a smile tug at her lips. She had forgotten that living could be more than just surviving.
One morning, while cleaning out a forgotten corner of the apartment, she found an old, dusty keyboard that Rishi had shoved into storage years ago. He had dismissed it as useless, something that took up space and served no purpose. But as Meera ran her fingers over the keys, memories of her childhood came flooding back—days spent learning to play, the joy of creating music, the sense of peace it brought her.
Without thinking, she wiped off the dust and set it up in the living room, a space that was now hers to reclaim. She hesitated at first, her fingers hovering over the keys, unsure if she still remembered how to play. But when she pressed the first key and heard the soft note fill the room, it was as if something inside her clicked into place.The music came back to her slowly, awkwardly at first, but with each note, she felt a weight lifting from her chest. The apartment, which had once felt cold and stifling, began to warm with the sound of her playing. Asha and Rani sat beside her, their eyes wide with wonder as they watched their mother coax melodies from the keys.
“Can you teach us, Amma?” Asha asked one evening, her voice filled with excitement. “I want to learn how to play too!” She nodded, pulling both girls close to her on the bench. She began to teach them the basics, their small hands struggling to find the right keys, their laughter filling the room with light. Each time they played, she felt herself healing, piece by piece.
Rishi had forced her to be a homemaker but now she was able to find a fun and fulfilling job as a Memory Curator for a company called AnantEchoes (Eternal Echoes), where the vast majority of her time was spent carefully selecting and crafting digital memory capsules for families. In 2624, memories transcended photographs and videos; they became fully immersive experiences. Using a combination of virtual reality and AI, she possessed the ability to extract key moments—birthdays, weddings, or just a simple, quiet memorable afternoon—and turn them into sensory-rich virtual experiences. Families could relive cherished memories in vivid detail, from the smell of birthday cake to the warmth of a loved one’s hug. Her role required both technical skill and emotional sensitivity, as she helped clients preserve meaningful moments and find closure in painful ones. Though sometimes emotionally taxing, her work gave her purpose. As a Memory Curator, she didn’t just archive the past—she reconnected people to it in profound ways, offering healing and preservation of their most valued experiences.
Due to the air quality, many households had robo-teachers but this was a luxury that Meera would probably never be able to afford, so her children attended online school, and the neighbors all pitched in and homeschooled the kids in the building. While her neighbors taught math and science, She taught Karnatik music, Kathak dance, and the lost art of handwriting—something very few people continued to do with the advent of all the new technology that the past few centuries had brought about. She and her girls began doing things they never dared to do before. They sang loudly, their voices echoing off the walls, filling the apartment with joy. In the living room, the girls played made-up games and danced both by themselves, as well as with the other children that lived in the building, spinning and twirling until they collapsed in a heap of giggles. They finally made noise and reveled in it, no longer fearing that it would bring Rishi’s wrath down upon them.
She made new friends in the building, including single women with and without children, as well as couples whose lives she once envied. They formed a big group that often stayed up late, meeting in the the recreation room of the building or inside one of their apartments, telling stories, playing the harmonium and the electric sitar, singing Bollywood and Rabindra Sangeet songs from centuries ago, sharing celebrity gossip, food, drinks, ganja, and conversations long into the night. She cut her hair in a stylish bob with an undercut, a symbolic act of defiance against the years of control Rishi had exercised over her. He had always insisted that she keep her hair long, claiming it was a mark of her femininity, her submission to him. With each snip of the scissors, Meera felt lighter, slowly trying to forget all the ugliness.
* * *
A few years passed, and one day, she was making a memory capsule for a gentleman named Dev, also from New Mumbai about his German Shepherd puppy, Belle. They had previously only spoken online via video, but he came across as a quiet man with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor, so different from Rishi in every way. He asked her out for a “business” lunch, but the way he smiled when he first saw her in person, made her think otherwise. Due to the air quality, Meera had always hated to go out to eat, but she wasn’t about to bring a strange man to her apartment.
While the neighbors watched her girls, the two met up one afternoon in the heart of New Mumbai beneath the dim glow of flickering lamps at a small, ironclad café, their faces half-hidden behind ornate brass respirators. The air was thick with soot, and they heard the distant hiss of steam engines, while gears and pipes twisted overhead like a mechanical canopy. Their food arrived in sealed metal tiffins, the lids hissing as they were opened to reveal hot, savory kitchuri that somehow retained warmth in the oppressive atmosphere. Between bites, they spoke, mostly about Belle, in muffled tones, their voices barely audible over the constant hum of machinery as they watched the airships glide silently through the smoky skies above.
As months passed, their conversations grew longer and more personal and were no longer about Belle. She found herself looking forward to those moments, where she could talk freely, without fear of judgment or reprimand. Dev listened to her in a way that Rishi never had. He asked questions about her life, her dreams, and her daughters. He never interrupted, never dismissed her thoughts or feelings. And when Meera laughed—something that happened more often now—Dev would smile, a genuine and playful warmth in his eyes. Slowly, cautiously, she allowed herself to open up to him.
Dev met Asha and Rani soon after. He came to their apartment and brought them small gifts—a book for Asha, a robo-kitten for Rani—and they took to him immediately. There was an ease in their interactions, a natural warmth that made her feel relief and hope. The girls, who had once been so fearful and quiet around, not only Rishi, but men in general with the exception of the fathers in the building, began to open up, their laughter and smiles coming more freely in Dev’s presence.
One evening, during a particularly emotional conversation, Dev quietly mentioned something about his own past.
“I know it’s hard for you, Meera. I went through something tough too. We all did,” he said, his voice gentle but with a hint of something else—like he was searching for connection through their shared struggles.
She froze, her expression darkening as she turned to look at him. “You went through something? You didn’t have an abusive husband. You didn’t have to raise two daughters in fear,” she snapped, the words spilling out before she could stop herself.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Dev looked down at his hands, his fingers nervously tapping the edge of the table. “I know it’s not the same,” he murmured, almost apologetically, “But I lost my dogs. They were crushed to death because of the force field… and that’s something too. I know they died quickly…but the pain they were in…I still think about that every night how I wasn’t there with them. When I think about how they suffered, sometimes I wish it had been me instead.”
Silence settled over the room, heavy and uncomfortable. Dev stayed quiet, his eyes drifting away from hers.
Meera’s heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t meant to lash out. After a few long moments, she sighed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice softening.
Dev nodded, still quiet, but he reached for her hand. “I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I know what you went through. I don’t. I just…wanted to let you know that I’ve had my own struggles, even if they’re not the same.”
She let out a long breath. The fight had left a knot of guilt in her stomach, but it had also peeled back another layer between them. Dev wasn’t perfect, and neither was she. But as they sat in the silence that followed, she realized that maybe they didn’t need to be. They just needed to keep trying.
After that night, things between them didn’t change overnight, but there was a shift. They spent more time talking, slowly learning to navigate each other’s emotions. Dev still had moments where he would retreat, unsure of how to handle the intensity of Meera’s past, but he was always there, trying his best to show up for her and the girls. Meera, in turn, began to see him as more than just an escape from her old life. He was flawed, but in a way that made him human—someone who was figuring things out just as she was.
Their relationship deepened gradually, with quiet dinners and afternoons spent with Asha and Rani. Dev wasn’t just a presence in her life; he became part of her daughters’ world too. The girls adored him, and while they still clung to their mother, she noticed how their laughter came easier when Dev was around.
One evening, after the girls had gone to bed, Dev and Meera sat together in her living room, the familiar hum of the city filling the air outside. It had been a long day, but there was a sense of calm between them that felt comforting.
Dev hesitated for a moment, then spoke, his voice soft. “I’ve been thinking… about us. About the future.”
She tensed slightly, the mention of the future still making her nervous. “What about it?”
“I know it’s not something we have to decide right now,” he continued, “but I want you to know that I’m in this for the long haul. You, the girls… I want to build something real with you. No rush, just… whenever you’re ready.”
She wasn’t ready to talk about marriage yet—not after everything she’d been through—but for the first time, the idea didn’t terrify her. Instead, it felt… possible.
“I’m not there yet,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “But I’m getting closer.”
Dev smiled, a look of understanding in his eyes. “That’s all I need to hear.”
Months passed, and even though their relationship grew even stronger, there were still moments of tension, and times when Meera would pull back or when Dev would struggle with how to express his feelings, but they were learning. The girls, too, began to trust him more, their bond with him becoming as natural as it was with their mother.
One evening, as they sat together at their new grand piano—Dev having purchased it over as a surprise for her birthday—she realized how far they had come. The music filled the small apartment, Asha and Rani playing alongside their mother, while Dev watched, a soft smile on his face. And in that moment, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known in years. It wasn’t long after that when Dev asked Meera to marry him—not in some grand, elaborate proposal, but in a simple, heartfelt way, while they sat together on her couch one night after the girls had fallen asleep.
“I want to marry you,” he had said softly, his fingers gently brushing hers. “Not because I think we need to rush into anything, but because you’re my family, and if we ever experience another force field,” he said half joking, but mostly not, “I will need you by my side.”
She smiled, a small, tentative smile. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want that too.”
They didn’t rush into the wedding. Instead, they took their time, planning a small, intimate ceremony with only a few close friends and neighbors. There were no grand declarations, no elaborate rituals—just a simple exchange of vows and a promise to build a life together. Asha and Rani, along with Belle, stood by their side, their smiles wide and genuine. In their new home, they placed the grand piano in the center of the living room, a symbol of the freedom and love they had found. She continued teaching her daughters to play, their laughter filling the air, a joyful contrast to the mechanical whir of the world outside.
One evening, as the three of them played a particularly lively tune, Asha suddenly paused, her fingers hovering over the keys. “Mama,” she asked, her voice thoughtful, “what do you think the force field was? Why did it happen?”
Meera’s hands stilled on the keyboard, and she looked at her daughter, considering the question. It was something she had often wondered about herself, late at night when the city was quiet and the memories of that fateful day drifted back to her. The force field had come out of nowhere, an inexplicable phenomenon that had taken lives, destroyed much of the city, and yet, somehow, set her free.
“I don’t know, Asha,” she replied softly. “Some people say it was a warning, others say it was a blessing. I’m not sure anyone really knows. But whatever it was, it changed our lives, didn’t it?”
Asha nodded slowly, her brow furrowed in thought. “I think it was something that helped us, even though it was scary. But I’m still sorry for all the suffering and pain.”
Rani, who had been listening quietly, piped up. “I don’t remember much, but I know I’m happy now, Amma. I like it when we play the piano together.”
Meera smiled at her daughters, her heart swelling with love and pride. “I’m happy too,” she said. “I’m happy that we’re here, together, and that we can do all these things we never could before.”
As time went on, she found herself more at peace with the events that had led to this new chapter in her life. Although all of them would experience moments of fear and confusion from PTSD from time to time, the force field began to feel like a distant, almost dreamlike memory. Life in New Mumbai continued, the city’s relentless machinery and smog-filled skies a backdrop to their quieter, more contented existence.
One day, Dev suggested they take a trip out of the city to Lonavala, one of the few remaining natural hill stations that had been somewhat preserved from the encroaching mechanical sprawl. It was a long drive, but she agreed, sensing that it would be good for them to escape the confines of the city, even if only for a short while. It was nestled in a remote area, far from the towering structures and clanging gears of New Mumbai. The vast majority of it was still enclosed by giant domes several miles long, but it was still a green oasis in the midst of the gray and brown landscape. Trees swayed gently in the artificial breeze, their leaves a vibrant green that seemed almost out of place in a world so dominated by metal and steam.
Asha and Rani ran ahead, their laughter echoing through the trees as they explored the trails and paths. Meera and Dev followed at a more leisurely pace, hand in hand, enjoying the rare tranquility. As they walked, she found herself reflecting on how far she had come. Much like the force field, the woman she had been in that small, dim apartment felt like a distant memory, almost like another person entirely. She had been so afraid, both literally and figuratively beaten down by both her husband as well as circumstance, that she had forgotten what it meant to truly live. They reached a clearing, and Meera found a bench to sit on, watching as Asha and Rani continued their playful exploration. Dev sat beside her, his hand still holding hers, a comfortable silence settling between them.
“This place is beautiful,” she said quietly, her eyes following the path of a soaring bird.
Dev nodded. “It is. I’m glad we came. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that places like this still exist, with everything that’s happened.”
Meera looked at him,“Thank you, Dev. For everything. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “You’d be right here, meri jaan. Maybe it would have taken a little longer, but you and the girls would have found your way.”
She smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the sun. “Maybe,” she said. “Hopefully.”
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the park, they gathered Asha and Rani and began the journey back to New Mumbai. The city loomed in the distance, its familiar silhouette stark against the fading light. But as they drove, the memories of their day in the park lingered, a reminder that even in a world filled with gears and steam, there was still beauty, still hope.
That night, as they sat down at the piano, Meera played a soft, soothing Bollywood song from hundreds of years ago, her fingers moving effortlessly over the keys. The future, once so uncertain, now felt full of possibilities. She glanced at her daughters, who were leaning sleepily against her, and then at Dev, who was still smiling at her. And as she sat there, surrounded by the people she loved, Meera realized that she no longer needed to search for answers to the mysteries of the force field, or to the strange twists of fate that had brought her to this point. All that mattered was that she was here, now, living a life filled with love, laughter, and music. And that, she thought as she pressed a final key, letting the sound linger in the air, was more than enough.
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About Nandini Dev
Nandini Dev is a librarian, educator, and writer based in Southern California. With 21 years of experience in education, she is passionate about fostering curiosity and connection through storytelling. She has authored an unpublished nonfiction “how-to” book and a collection of autobiographical essays influenced by bell hooks, but The Force Field is her debut published work. Fun fact: the character Dev in the story is named after actor Dev Patel. When she’s not writing or working as a librarian, Nandini dedicates her time to dog rescue efforts and curating unique books for her students.
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