Chapter 2
Detective Arvinda Rane of the Mumbai Crime Branch's Homicide Division entered rhe 24-hours sweeping the room. It wasn't crowded, but a few individuals dotted the expensive hall, each stack of books, her tea trumbler sitting in front of her, the steam rising laizy into the air. She appeared engrossed, her fingers flying over the keys of her laptop.
As Arvinda walked towards the table in the far corner, their eyes briefly met. Hers held no intrigue, no curiosity, only a momentary, indifferent glance. A mere flicker of acknowledgement before she returned her attention to the screen, the connection gone as quickly as it had come.
It wasn't the first time he had noticed her on two previous occasions in the same spot and wsch time, it was the same routine.
Arvinda, on the other hand, was no stranger to the library. He cherished the peace it offered, especially in the late hours of the night when insomnia relentlessly kept him awake. It wasn't unusual for him to find solace in reading at this hour-his mind roo restless, his thought too chaotic to allow him any rest. In fact, India's growing insomnia epidemic could be traced to the pressure of work, family and societal expections. But for Arvinda, his sleepless nights began long before he took on the streess of this job.
It all started when he was just seven years old. His mother had passed away from cancer and the pain of that loss was too deep ignore. He would like wake in this room, consumed by grief, too afraid to close his eyes, too proud to cry. The nightmare that followed her death were relentless, their vivid inages searing into his mind. To cope, Arvinda's brain devised a defense mechanism- keeping him wake. Sleep became both a torment a laxuary. Too pass the endless hour of wakefulness, he buried himself in book. Those pages his refuge, his fortress, a world untouched by grief.
Though the years had softened the intensity of yhe insomnia, it was never fully gone. After earning his master's degree in Criminology and Psychology from the National Institute of Mental Health and Neuro-Science in Mumbai, another tragedy struck-his father was shot and killed in a bank robbery. Arvinda had spent twelve agonizing weeks at his father's bedside, watching helplessly as his life slipped away. The nightmare and insomnia returned, more relentless than never and sleep had become and elusive dream.
Tonight was bo different. As Arvinda took his seat at the table and opened hos book, he glanced at his watch-12:48 a.m. The library was bustling with s mix of students, researchers and insomniac like him. After reading for a while, he decided to step out for a tea.
The vending machine outside the reading room offered a variety of options. As he approached, he caught a glimpse of the woman once again. The time gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she returned to her laptop, her demeanour unchanged.
The machine was new, with an array of tea and coffee options, including masala tea, filter coffee and even green tea. The most extravagant choice, the Desi Delight, was served in a large ceramic cup, garnished with saffron strands and cardamom. At ₹350, it was more of dessert than a drink and Arvinda couldn't helo but chuckle at absurd price.
"Unless you like your tea to taste like a desert, I'd avoid that one" A voice said behind him.
Surprised, Arvinda turned to find the same woman standing there, her smile radiant. Her dark hair, loosely tied into bun, framed her face and her simple kurta, adorned with block prints, added to her charm. She wore minimal makeup, bute her almond-shaped eyes gleamed with curiosity.
She pointed to the vending machine with her empty trumbler. "The Desi Delight. It sweeter than spicy. Unless you like that kind of thing."
Arvinda grinned faintly. "It's not just the sweetness, the price could give some nightmares."
She laugh, a soft, melodic sound. "I have noticed you have before," she said, steering the conversation away from overpriced tea. "Are you a student?"
"I get that," she said glanced over the room with its wokden table and towering bookshelves. "For me, it's the smell of the place," she added with a smile.
Arvinda raised an eyebrow. "The smell?"
"Yes," she said, smiling warmly. "If knowledge had a scent, it would be this-a mix of old paper, polished wood and tea."
Her humour brought a rare smile to Arvinda's face.
"I am Meera," she said, extending her hand.
She nodded towards the machine. "Go ahead, you were here first."
"Really, I insist," he said with a smile.
She selected a plain tea with no sugar and they chatted briefly she made her choice.
Before they coul continue, Arvinda's phone vibrated in his pocket. Checking the screen, he excused himself, his expression hardening ss he spoke into the phone. "Detective Arvinda Rane," he said.
Meera's eyebrows rose at the mention of his title.
Arvinda glanced at his watch-1:14 a.m. "I will be shortly," he said, already heading for the stairs.
"Enjoy your tea," he called, nodding to Meera.
"Wait, you forgot your book!" she called after him, but by the time she looked up, Arvinda was gone.
