The Alley and the Masked Man
A hand slipped out from beneath the covers, reaching for the phone vibrating sharply on the bedside table. 6:00 a.m. The alarm cut through the early hush of Whitefield, one quiet corner of a city already stirring.
The phone disappeared under the blanket. Silence returned.
Aarav sat up, rubbing the weight of sleep from his eyes. The screen still glowed.
“First day at the job. Pick yourself up.”
After months of interviews, rejections and waiting in glass-walled offices across Bangalore, today marked the end of one wait—and the beginning of something else.
He stepped into the bathroom; the tiles cool beneath his feet. The razor scraped in steady lines across his jaw, a quiet ritual carved out of nerves and hope. Only when his face was clean-shaven did he finally lift his eyes to the mirror.
The reflection was his, but sharpened—more certain than he felt. For a moment, he stared, as though trying to see the future in that freshly polished face. Then he reached for his toothbrush. One step, then another.
Aarav stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, steam still clinging faintly to his skin. He changed into his casual homewear—well-worn cottons that felt like second skin—and walked out of his room.
The sounds of morning greeted him: the sizzle of oil, the soft clatter of a ladle against a steel pan. A rich aroma of sautéed onion and tomato wrapped around him like a memory.
“Good morning, Aarav,” his mother called from the kitchen, not turning as she stirred.
“Good morning, Mom,” he replied, his voice still laced with sleep.
“All prepped for your first day?” she asked, as she added salt and spices to the golden mixture, the pan hissing in response. The air bloomed with the earthy heat of cumin, turmeric, and something uniquely hers. Only then did she lower the flame and stir in the curd, folding it in gently like an old secret.
“Yeah, I think so,” Aarav said, watching her cook with quiet reverence. The morning felt ordinary—intentionally so—but something inside him stirred. Today, he would step into a new life. But for now, it was enough to be here, wrapped in the scent of home.
“What’s for breakfast?” Aarav asked as he pulled out a chair and sat at the dining table, still drying his hair with a towel.
His mother turned with a smile, placing two covered dishes before him.
“It’s your favourite,” she said, uncovering them with a small flourish. “Idiyappam and Istu.”
She leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I want you to have a perfect start to your day.”
Aarav smiled, warmth blooming in his chest—not just from the food, but from the quiet ritual of care, the kind only a mother can offer. Steam rose from the plate like incense in a morning prayer, soft and fragrant with coconut and cardamom.
“I am not nervous as I have reached the first step of my dream. Protecting your happiness” Aarav smiled as he put a small portion of Idiyappam dipped in Istu in my mouth. Mom smiled and replied, “My son has become so reliable.” She paused for a second and continued, “But you need not worry about me. Live your life to the fullest. I like our simple life.”
After breakfast, Aarav went to get ready. He slipped into the neatly ironed formal shirt and trousers he had prepared the night before, picked up the company-issued laptop bag, and descended the stairs. The house felt familiar and quiet—yet alive with first-day anticipation.
He grabbed the tiffin box from the dining table.
“I’m leaving, Mom! Ping me the grocery list for later!” he called out, raising his voice so it carried to the kitchen.
“Wait,” his mother said, stepping out quickly, wiping her hands on her apron. There was a mixture of excitement and worry in her eyes—an emotion mothers seemed to be born knowing.
“It’s your first day, right? Don’t do anything in a rush. Stay calm, focus on what needs to be done. Got it?”
She placed a water bottle in his hand. “And drink plenty of water. Eat your lunch on time.”
He nodded, smiling, but something about the moment felt strangely heavier—as though the air itself was gently holding its breath. Somewhere deep within him, a ripple passed—quiet, unformed, fleeting.
He brushed it off.
Today was just his first day at work.
Nothing more.
Or so he believed.
Aarav hurried through the narrow street behind his office campus, scrolling through his phone.
Thirty minutes left.
He broke into a half-run, weaving through the early workers and shopkeepers lifting shutters.
The world was waking—dogs stretching on pavements, milk packets hanging from gates, sunlight leaking shyly through smog.
As he passed a narrow alley between two houses, a harsh voice sliced through the morning calm.
“Do not come to court today…
or your daughter will be in a worse condition than you.”
Aarav stopped.
The air thickened.
He leaned slightly to look into the shadowed gap.
Five rough, broad-shouldered men surrounded a man in his fifties—bloodied, kneeling, trembling. The leader turned, noticing Aarav.
“What are you looking at? Walk.”
Around them, neighbours averted their eyes and moved away, their footsteps quick and silent. This was normal for them. Too normal.
Aarav lowered his gaze and turned—intending to do the same.
To walk away.
To be normal.
But as soon as he turned—
A thunderous blast of wind roared behind him.
He spun around.
All five goons were thrown out of the alley—slammed onto the road, unconscious, limbs twisted, bodies broken.
The entire neighbourhood froze.
Aarav’s breath hitched.
Standing in the alley’s shadowed mouth was a man—masked, tall, calm as stone.
He extended a hand to the injured older man.
“Are you okay? I’ll take you to the hospital,” the masked figure said, voice deep, steady.
As he lifted the wounded man into his arms, his eyes flicked—briefly—sharply—to the ID card clipped to Aarav’s belt.
Before Aarav could speak, the masked man’s aura shifted— and he blasted into the sky, carrying the wounded man with him, vanishing between the clouds. Aarav stood alone in the street, heart hammering, the early morning sun painting gold over the chaos.
(To be continued)
Karun G Nath 
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