Bhairava got ready and stood near the gate, adjusting his watch. "Shivani… come on, it's getting late!" he called out.
From the stairs, Shivani appeared wearing a long skirt and a simple top, her violin strapped to her back along with her bag. Her steps were light, her face calm.
Bhairava helped her onto the bicycle, and they rode together through the quiet evening streets. The breeze was soft, and the sky was slowly turning dark.
When they reached the music school, Shivani got down. Bhairava looked at her and said, "After your class is done, head straight home. Okay?"
Shivani nodded, then raised her hand and gave a gentle wave. Bhairava smiled and waved back with the same quiet gesture.
He turned the cycle and rode off, stopping at the entrance of a large supermarket. He parked his bicycle neatly on the platform divider and walked inside.
He headed straight to the dressing room and changed into his work clothes a clean white shirt paired with blue pants and coat. He wore a matching blue cap, the kind all staff wore. He looked neat, ready.
The supermarket was busy. Evening hours always brought a crowd.
Bhairava moved through the aisles, guiding customers who were searching for items. He helped them patiently, pointing out shelves and answering questions. When people left things scattered, he quietly rearranged them, making sure everything looked tidy again.
This was his part-time job. After college, he worked here for four hours every evening.
Time passed quickly.
By 9 PM, the crowd had thinned. The store was almost ready to close. His shift was over.
He returned to the dressing room, changed back into his casual clothes, and stepped outside. The air was cooler now, quieter.
He unlocked his bicycle, climbed on, and rode back home. The road home was empty, lit only by the rhythm of streetlights casting long shadows.
He reached home, parked the cycle, and stepped inside.
The house smelled of cumin and curry leaves. His mother, Geetha, was in her usual home attire, hair tied back, placing bowls of steaming food on the dining table. She glanced up as he entered.
She looked up and smiled. "Perfect timing. Wash your hands and come."
At the table, Shivani sat with an empty plate in her hands, her eyes wide and expectant. She tapped the plate gently, Bhairava smirked as he passed her.
"Food means you coming first?" he teased, drying his hands. "You should wait for your brother."
Shivani stuck her tongue out in mock defiance with silent laughter. He nudged her gently as he sat beside her, the kind of gesture that said more than words.
Geetha began serving—rice, dal. The clinking of steel bowls filled the room like a quiet rhythm.
Shivani pointed to the empty chair beside her, then gestured toward the food, her brows raised in question.
Geetha smiled. "I'll eat with your dad. You both go ahead."
Bhairava glanced at the chair. "Today also he didn't come on time?"
"He said some urgent matter came up," Geetha replied, her voice light. "He'll be late."
Bhairava's voice dropped. "He has no time to spend with family."
Geetha's tone softened. "His work is like that. He's a respectful police officer."
"Ahh, whatever," Bhairava muttered, scooping rice onto his plate.
They ate in silence, broken only by the clink of spoons and the occasional glance. After dinner, they washed their plates together. Shivani handed him hers with a small smile, then pointed upstairs.
They walked up side by side, their steps in quiet rhythm. At the landing, she gave him a quick wave and disappeared into her room.
Shivani entered her room and walked over to the small table beside her bed. Her diary was waiting there, just as always. She picked it up, sat down on the bed, and opened to a blank page.
Writing in her diary was something she did every night. It helped her remember the day and understand her feelings. She couldn't talk about what was on her mind, but in her diary, she could say everything.
She wrote slowly, thinking carefully about what had happened. She wrote about school, about dinner, about Bhairava teasing her, about the way Geetha smiled when she served food, about the peaceful feeling in the house. When she finished, she closed the diary gently, placed it back on the table, and turned off the light. She pulled the bedsheet over herself and lay down. The room became still, and sleep came softly.
In the room across the hall, Bhairava stepped inside and climbed onto his bed. He sat quietly for a moment, then picked up a pen from the table. Turning his hand over, he pressed the tip of the pen firmly against the back of it, drawing the letter 'A' deep and bold.
It was part of his lucid dreaming practice. By marking it on his hand, he hoped to recognize it in his dream and become aware that he was dreaming.
He looked at the clock on the table. The seconds ticked by slowly. Then he pinched his hand just once, sharp enough to feel it.
This was another trick. If he did the same thing in a dream and didn't feel pain, he would know it wasn't real. He had tried many times before. Tonight, he hoped it would finally work.
He turned off the light and lay back in bed. The room went dark.
"At least today," he thought, "it needs to work."
He closed his eyes, hoping that this time, he would wake up inside the dream.