One bad day could change the whole ratio of time and visual limits. Whole world had been awaiting for the time to make him realize his values of the human relations. Jawad deeply breathed and walked towards the railing of the rooftop. Until, he mounted there, the world around it, looked bleak and an unfortunate future, coming up towards him or may be fortunate. The pressure of the society, indirectly haemorraged his mind that sucked into the nature of the unfinished parts of the world that he would eventually learn.

He jumped after the voices, hurting him.

It was high above and scarier than expected. Jawad was floating that cheered him up because he thought that all the sadness and depression around him fading away plus he would meet good times in heaven. When he fell off to the ground, everything went black. It was the body that had been gone into the thin air or in a floor that had a bed.

Jawad found himself sleeping in a soft cushion in the floor with a lot of comfort or peace. Until, he was snoring, a little boy was playing with a rubber ball and smiled at Jawad. He slowly woke up and looked at the crampled newspapers at which he had no memory of it. The blue wall paint, the boards which had a blackboard, full of cases and thesis of crime or maybe the newspaper of the serial killers.

The whole environment seemed different than what he had during his prime time as a teenager. The newspapers were scattered on the floor as well as the notes that surprised him. The only physical change he had was his tone and the wrinkle on his rough hands such of a regular, hard-working adult. He was quite silent as he wanted to absorb the time and pretend to have a little bit of a memory loss. Until, the year he saw in the newspaper, he was shocked and awed for the date that he wanted to look on.

1980- the year where government looked classy, on the contrary, the consparisy about drugs were coming out, especially phensedyl or else called it, narcotic drugs. VHS and other cassette covers, as well as the Knight Rider posters were hanged on the wall. Jawad smiled because it was an entertaining era where his father, Rahat used to talk about everytime. He looked at the little boy.

"Who are you?" asked Jawad.

The little boy looked shocked, as if he had a memory loss. Far more difference was a band-aid in his forehead and a dressing in his left hand. His leg was even dressed with the white bandage, that hurt him even more such as if the hot oil was burning to the pot. He looked all over the scattered places that made minor shambles towards his life because the major ones were just the beginning of the element. What are the time shifts for? Why do he have to go through all these? Are there things from his dreams that were testing something that he never found?

"Cousin, it's me Delwar" softly said the kid, Delwar.

Delwar called out his mother who rushed from the kitchen, just to see Jawad.

"Sohail, my nephew!? It's been four days!" exclaimed and wept The mother.

"But mom, he doesn't remember anything" said the kid Delwar.

"It's just an accident, he just needs the remember for a week, don't worry" said The mother.

Jawad, or else, call him Sohail in that dimension was more, older and experienced as a journalist of sorts but at the same time, a happy-go-lucky fellow, as the retro posters shown, hanging in the wall. By the time, we knew that the 80s were the classiest time of our country. Sohail looked at the mother properly, as that was familiar to him. The difference was that of Jawad's timeline, she looked to have a wrinkled forehead with a white hair but a kindly old lady, while in Sohail's timeline, she was slightly younger.

"Grand aunt!" he whispered.

"Hang on, boy, who are you calling grand aunt?" asked the mother with a doubt after overhearing his whisper.

"No, no aunt Haleemah, I am just trying to understand what changes did happen during the last four days! Yeah" said Sohail, or Jawad.

"You were just having an accident. Probably a gunshot. As far as I remember, one of your fellow journalists took your body and well, you were breathing, somehow and someways" explained Haleema, the mother.

Hence, Jawad realized that he was under the body of his own uncle who was shot dead way before he was born. Questions raised in such an incompetent time on which bisected his connection. The stare was quite relevant because he was trying to recognize Haleema and Delwar. Why his uncle? Does that mean, Jawad looked like his uncle? What does it mean?

"So go and have a shower a bit" continued Haleema.

Both left to do their chores.

Jawad staggered inside the washroom and the first thing that he looked, was the mirror. It was just a simple glass which surprises the various, unless some wont be surprised. He crept into the mirror and what he saw, was unexpected! The only difference on his face was his medium facial beard with the blooded scars on his forehead which immediately made him realize the reason that his mother could not move on. Furthermore, his hair might be a little bit of an Elvis Presley style but it was covered by the beard, untidy beard. The eyes rounded, lips curled down and shook with a surprise. Therefore, he screamed like a child.

Aunt Haleema almost finished her cooking but the scream made her rush from to the washroom. Jawad quickly calmed himself and huffed.

"What happened, son?" asked Haleema.

"Just saw my face... It was whole different than I expected" gasped Jawad or else called, Sohail.

"Aah! You just as handsome in your facial beard. The beard rather suits you than the mustache and retro-esque hair, which you call it the David Hasselhoff hair" explained Haleema.

Jawad does not remember having one of the kindest families in his own timeline, from what he got on his uncle's. He got funnily jealous with a smile that neve, was imagined. The red and green face turned yellow that made him a dirty fellow. The fun was about to happen to the bigger event.

"My uncle's a lucky bastard!" he spoke to himself privately with a smirk on the face, with a compliment.

That was the first time, he felt genuinely happy. Removed his dressing, the wounds having lesser scars within a week. Haleema finished her cooking. Therefore, she called out Delwar and Sohail (Jawad) for dinner. The dining room was quite small and had wooden tables with the chairs, that are decorated below, maybe not kingly dining, as simple as the middle class one. In the tables, some food items such as the masala omlettes and inside the hotpot, smell of the spicy potato parathas were exotic, as well as the spicy fried potatoes.

Jawad was eating with relish and enjoyment after several years of childhood (on the original timeline). Innocence, hope and joy were evolving quickly with the smile on the face. It seemed that after a long time, he was enjoying but fate could turn out the other.

"So, where is my sister, Sabeda?" asked Jawad/Sohail with a mouthful of food.

"She's in the hostel right now, doing her honors on Journalism, as you are a journalist yourself, working for one of the biggest magazines companies" said Haleema.

"Which one?" asked Jawad.

"The Forum" revealed Haleema

"The newspapers I collect, is Azadi, right?" said Jawad

Haleema nodded with the agreement.

"Ah, thank God that I have a job, not like school promotion-demotion game" sighed and whispered Jawad to himself.

"What are you saying?" asked Haleema who overheard her whisper.

"Nothing, it's a blessing!" lied Jawad by clearing his throat with a fake smile.

Haleema set out an embarassing pause, that actually created the question of what strange things that were about to describe, she interrupted herself and agreed "Ok".

Hence, after he finished his breakfast, the outside world was waiting for him to explore the classic era of the 80s, right after the war of 1971. It was the time where we got to see the resurgance of the pop Bangladeshi Band "Uccharon", TV shows from the 80s to the 90s dubbed and coming on to the National Television, The rise of the 'Sarkari Betar Kendra' (Bangladesh Government Radio Station) on the AM channel, long before the rise of the FM channels and the best rule of a certain government. Plus the murder of Neehar Banu which raged the whole country, right after the war. Despite the fact that the history repeats itself, but it changes over time.

The 80s are considered to be the interesting era of the bunch, but for Jawad's- it's more to explore the world and the start of the journey to the universe. As his soul might be his but the body was of his uncle's that led him to a very different mystery that he might get into.

On the contrast, he needs to know the reason for his wound and 'memory loss'. Hence, he went near to Grandaunt Haleema.

"Aunt Haleema, may I go out for a walk?" asked Jawad.

"Why, son? Your wound is not that okay?" said Grandaunt Haleema.

"I just want to see the world that I haven't seen during the last four days" explained Jawad.

"Then, take Delwar with you. He will guide you because, as you lost a bit of your memory" said Haleema.

"Aunt, I can go on my own" politely protested Jawad.

"Ok, as your wish" Haleema agreed happily.