The Arrival

The late afternoon sun slipped through the thin curtains, filling Aarav’s room with a sleepy warmth. Dust floated lazily in the light. His laptop balanced on his knees, half-open, the hum of a game menu looping endlessly.

The room looked like a war zone. Crumpled wrappers hid under the bed. Empty soda cans gathered on the desk like trophies. Books were stacked in uneven piles—half school notes, half novels he never finished.

Ding-dong.

The sound of the doorbell.

Aarav groaned, dragging a pillow over his face.
"Tch… who the hell at this hour?"

He forced himself up, hair sticking out in every possible direction, hoodie wrinkled from two days of wear. He shuffled to the door, yawning.

When he opened it, a boy stood there.

Neat backpack. Tidy, tucked-in shirt. A small box of sweets in his hand. His smile was polite—like one of those “I practiced this in the mirror” smiles.

“Uh… hi,” the boy said. “I’m Neil. Mom said I’ll be staying here for a while. You must be Aarav, right?”

Aarav blinked. Blank stare.
(Thought): Cousin? From Mom’s side? I don’t even remember agreeing to this…

“…Yeah. Come in.”

Neil stepped inside, looking around with curious eyes. His gaze stopped at the wall of family photos—Aarav as a kid, standing tall with medals, trophies, birthday cakes. For a second, Neil’s smile softened, almost impressed. Then he turned back, cheerful as ever.

Narration (Aarav’s thoughts):
“Great. Just what I needed. A reminder of what ‘good kids’ look like.”

They entered the dining room. The faint smell of bread lingered—the bakery downstairs never fully hid its scent. A half-open pastry box sat on the table, one lonely puff inside.

Aarav collapsed into a chair with a grunt. Neil, in contrast, carefully placed his backpack on the floor like it was made of glass.

Neil glanced toward the kitchen.
“Auntie’s at the bakery, right? I… saw the sign outside. Smells amazing.”

Aarav shrugged.
“Yeah. She bakes, she sells, she nags. That’s the cycle.”

Neil chuckled softly.
“Sounds… nice, actually.”

Aarav raised an eyebrow.
“Trust me, it’s not. Imagine the smell of bread haunting you every day. Even when you don’t want it. I can’t even look at toast without getting flashbacks.”

Neil laughed—an actual laugh this time, not polite. Aarav rolled his eyes and pulled his laptop closer, tapping at the keyboard.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Neil take out a notebook. Neat handwriting filled every page—clean, solved math problems, diagrams, highlighted notes. Aarav nearly gagged.

(Thought, scoffing): Oh, perfect. A textbook child.

Neil tilted his head.
“So… do you play a lot of games?”

“All day,” Aarav muttered without looking up. “Eat, game, scroll, sleep, repeat. That’s the holy schedule.”

Neil hesitated, then smiled.
“Cool. I’m not really good at games… maybe you could teach me sometime?”

Aarav looked at him, deadpan.
“You’ll regret asking that.”

Neil grinned. “What, are you that bad at teaching?”

“No,” Aarav said, smirking faintly. “I’m that good at destroying.”

Neil chuckled again, and for some reason, it annoyed Aarav that his sarcasm didn’t scare the kid off.

Neil leaned forward, curious.
“So… what games do you play?”

“Everything,” Aarav replied. “Shooter, chess, racing, even farming.”

“Farming?” Neil blinked.
“Yeah,” Aarav said flatly. “I own a digital cow named Moozilla. She gives me more respect than most humans.”

Neil burst out laughing, nearly falling off the chair.
“Pfft—Moozilla? Seriously?”

Aarav shrugged with a straight face.
“She understands me.”

Neil wiped his eyes, still laughing.
“You’re insane.”

Aarav smirked faintly.
“Finally, you’re catching on.”

The two sat in silence for a bit after, Aarav clicking through his game, while Neil scribbled something in his notebook. The sound of the bakery doorbell downstairs jingled faintly. Their mom’s voice drifted up—bright, welcoming a customer.

Neil tilted his head, listening, then smiled.
“Auntie’s voice… she sounds so full of energy. No wonder she manages a bakery every day.”

Aarav snorted.
“Yeah. She works. Dad works. They both work. I just… exist.”

Neil looked at him, thoughtful, like he wanted to say something. Instead, he just turned back to his notebook.

Narration (Aarav’s thoughts):
“I don’t know why, but something about his smile pisses me off. Maybe because it reminds me of who I used to be.”