The Book of Aarav – 4

The Woman in Windbreaker

Aarav closed the success window of the last software on the list and glanced toward the office meeting room, waiting to see if Indresh would step out. After a few minutes, he opened the office chat application on his laptop and typed, Installed all the applications. Leaving office. Will see you tomorrow.
Then he shut the window, powered down the laptop, and stood up.

He stepped into the elevator just as his mother’s name flashed on his phone. Aarav let the elevator ride finish before returning the call, but it disconnected midway. Once he stepped out into the lobby, he called her back.

“Hello, Mom, all okay?” Aarav asked.

“Yeah, all good. Just wanted to check up on you. How did the interview with the police go?” she asked, her voice edged with concern.

“Oh, that wasn’t an issue.” Aarav paused, a faint darkness flickering behind his eyes as the memory resurfaced. “They just wanted some information related to the incident. I won’t be part of the investigation anymore.”

“That’s good. Don’t get involved in such things, okay? Come home, I want to tell you some news.”

“What news?” Aarav asked, curiosity rising.

“Come home and I’ll tell you. I’ve sent you the groceries to buy on your way. Don’t forget, okay?”

“Sure, Mom,” Aarav sighed.

“Okay, love you. See you at home.” She hung up.

Aarav reached the alley—the same place where he had witnessed the morning’s incident. His steps slowed. His eyes widened slightly in surprise: a large forensic team filled the narrow space, and the corner where he had seen the masked man appear and fly away was now sealed off with bright DO NOT CROSS tape.

He stood there, watching in fascination. A few feet away, a small cluster of locals had gathered, murmuring among themselves.

“Do you know what happened here?” a woman’s voice asked from behind him.

A lean woman in her twenties stood there, dressed in a fully zipped gray windbreaker with the hood pulled up and tight blue jeans. Her wheatish face bore a small scar—one Aarav couldn’t guess the origin of.

“A masked guy—some kind of superhuman—showed up and flew off with a man after saving him,” Aarav said.

“You saw the incident?” the woman asked. Her tone didn’t change. She studied him for a moment, expression unreadable.

“Yeah. It happened this morning while I was passing by.”

“Oh. Okay,” she murmured, her eyes drifting back to the commotion.

“You live around here?” Aarav asked.

“No, I… I was just passing by now.” She smiled—playfully, but with something guarded beneath it. “Your name?”

“My name is Aarav,” he replied. “And you are?”

“My name is… Dalila. Nice to meet you, Aarav.” She extended her hand.

Aarav shook it.

He glanced at his phone to check the time.

“I should get home, Dalila. Let’s hope we see each other again sometime.”

She smiled. “Yes. Let’s hope so.”

Aarav walked off quickly.

After a few steps, he turned back out of instinct—
—but Dalila was gone.

---

Aarav climbed the two steps to his house, the faint hum of evening traffic settling behind him. He pressed the doorbell, hearing its familiar chime echo through the small home.

The door swung open almost instantly.

“Son! How was your first day at the job?” his mother asked. Her smile was bright, but the worry hiding behind it was unmistakable.

Aarav stepped inside, dropping his bag near the shoe rack. “I don’t even know where to start,” he said with a tired exhale. “It was… long. And exhausting.”

He collapsed onto the couch. The ceiling fan whispered above them as he began recounting everything—the encounter with the masked man, the police interview, the odd tension of the day. His mother sat opposite him, leaning forward, her face shifting from concern to surprise to a small, relieved smile as the story unfolded.

When he finally finished, he rubbed his forehead and leaned back.

“Anyway… you said you had some news?” he asked.

“Oh—yes.” She hesitated for a heartbeat, then spoke with a brightness that felt a little too polished. “I got a proposal to write a travel book on the Himalayas. From WanderSphere Magazine.”

Aarav blinked. “Wait… WanderSphere? Isn’t that a worldwide publication?”

“It is,” she said, nodding quickly. “So I accepted the moment I saw the mail. I have to leave this weekend.” Her voice softened. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Mom, of course,” he replied with a small laugh. “I’m really happy for you. And I’m not ten anymore.”

That earned a genuine smile from her this time. “Good. I’ve got a few more emails to respond to. Can you start dinner?”

“Sure. What do you want?”

“There’s sardine in the fridge. Make your signature Sardine Curry.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “There’s aloo masala for you—just heat it. And I’ve left the rice on the stove from lunch.”

She walked out of the room, already pulling her phone from her pocket as she headed toward her workspace.

Aarav stretched his stiff shoulders and climbed the stairs to his room, the quiet of the house settling around him—comforting, familiar, and yet carrying the faint weight of something he couldn’t quite name.

(To be continued)