Shadows

 Arav glanced at the clear, blue sky as he steered his car toward Dehradun. 

He had been invited by the Dehradun Literary Club to be felicitated for his recent bestseller — a story collection blending dreams and reality, memories and myths. It was a proud moment, one his mother had insisted he attend, though deep down, Arav cared less about accolades and more about escaping the noise of his thoughts, and the city's hustle and bustle.

The organiser had offered a round-trip, first-class train ticket, but Arav insisted on driving to Dehradun instead.

The highway stretched empty ahead, framed by dusty fields and restless winds.

Suddenly, a storm began to rise — a wild, whirling curtain of dust. Arav slowed down, visibility dropping to almost nothing. The world outside became a furious blur of brown and gold. He stopped, waiting it out, when, through the swirling chaos, figures began to emerge.

The first was a stocky man, scowling under the shadow of a worn cap.

As the dust thinned, Arav realized the man was watching him closely. Their eyes met briefly — a flicker of coldness, a flash of recognition. It was Raman Raghav, a notorious South Indian gangster, whom Arav had once written into a forgotten draft.

Shaken, Arav pressed the accelerator to drive ahead, but almost immediately had to brake hard.

Another figure stood in the road — a woman in a khaki uniform, her badge gleaming through the dust.

Kiran Ahluwalia, it read.

Arav’s heart thudded. He knew that name — another character, a tough police officer he had once given life to on paper.

Kiran glanced at him, sharp and brief, before waving him through. No words exchanged, but the impact left Arav rattled.

The storm passed as suddenly as it had come.

At noon, Arav stopped at a roadside dhaba to refresh and fill his hungry stomach. Though a dhaba, the ambience was on par with any modern restaurant. It was reasonably occupied.He quickly found a corner table and settled there comfortably.

While waiting for his order to be served, he swept his glance across the dining area, making mental notes of the various people who were seated around him.

His gaze stopped at a particular table; he looked with intrigue at the middle-aged, balding male figure. Zorawar Khan - the name struck him instantly - a cunning and despicable politician, he had penned a few years back. The man was sipping from a beer can and speaking inaudibly into his phone. Each of the fingers on his right hand was adorned with a gold ring. His sly gaze didn't spare even a single woman who was present at that moment. 

The mannerisms were eerily similar to the fictional character. Infact , too similar to be true.

Arav promptly finished his lunch, paid the bill, and stepped out of the place.

When he neared his red Hyundai, he was amused to find a parrot perched on the bonnet. Upon seeing the approaching human figure, it squawked and flew off. It had a white dot under the left eye. 

Arav grimaced and shook his head in disbelief - the parrot's appearance was similar to a parrot that he had written about in a school magazine, many years ago.

A day of coincidences.. he said to himself.

**********************

He reached the outskirts of Dehradun just as twilight began to settle in. Guiding his car into a nearby empty field, he stepped out to stretch. The quiet surroundings and cool breeze helped calm his nerves. He took a deep breath and stood still, listening to the silence, broken only by the occasional passing vehicles.

Just then, a low but distinct humming sound caught his attention, and he instinctively looked up. A UFO? The oval shape and the eerie bluish pink light it emitted bore an uncanny resemblance to the spacecraft he had written about just a few months earlier.

Before he could react, the spacecraft zipped away toward the distant horizon. Shaking his head in disbelief, he climbed back into his car.

Arav drove on, mind racing, reality and imagination overlapping each other.

Reaching the hotel at Dehradun, Arav checked in and retired to his room. Some of the members of the literary club were present in the venue, who helped him to complete the formalities.

The hotel buzzed with preparations for the evening's felicitation dinner. The lobby gleamed under chandeliers. Elegant guests floated by.

As he moved toward the elevators, a faint floral scent—sweet and wild, caught him off-guard.

He paused, scanning the room.

There, near the vintage piano, sat a young woman, alone, in a simple crimson blouse and jeans.

Not flashy, but compelling.

A chill ran through him.

She resembled Scarlett, a character from an old,  but controversial story — a high-end escort who had drifted across his pages like a ghost made of fire and longing.

But this woman was different — ordinary, modest.

Only the physical features matched: the curve of her cheekbones, the restless glimmer in her eyes.

She isn’t Scarlett, Arav told himself. Just someone who looks like her.

Still, fact and fiction folded into each other, leaving him disoriented and more confused than ever.

The felicitation ceremony passed in a daze. Speeches, claps, smiles — Arav floated through it mechanically.

At the post-event dinner, he found a quiet table and was soon joined by Mehr, a cheerful young woman he had noticed earlier among the guests.

Mehr was just an attendee — not an awardee — but Arav found her easy to talk to.

They spoke about books, films, favorite places, and childhood memories.

Mehr laughed easily, a musical sound that somehow soothed his frayed mind.

Just when Arav began to relax, something tugged at his senses.

His gaze drifted across the hall and froze.

Near the far corner, Scarlett — or the woman resembling her — stood quietly, watching them.

There was sadness in her smile, a strange farewell in her eyes.

Arav rose instinctively, murmuring an apology to Mehr, and made his way toward her.

She lifted her hand in a soft wave... and before he could reach her, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Arav searched, but she was gone.

When he returned to his table, Mehr too had vanished.

Puzzled, he asked a staff member if they had seen where the lady from his table had gone.

But they looked at him blankly — no record of a guest matching her description attending the event.

A chill prickled his skin.

Too much — it was too much.

His head felt heavy. Beads of sweat enveloped his forehead.

The last thing he remembered was the ground moving beneath him as he collapsed.

---

Arav woke in a hospital bed, the ceiling whirring with the dull sound of a fan.

The doctors told him he had suffered a bout of stress-induced collapse.

"Nothing serious," they assured him. "Just fatigue. Rest, young man."

A mild tranquilizer was administered, and Arav slept deeply through the night, dreamless, for once.

He woke feeling lighter, refreshed.

At 8 AM, his phone buzzed with a WhatsApp message:

"Doctor has cleared discharge by noon. We will pick you up. Cheers, DLC Team."

He smiled faintly, called his mother, and reassured her that all was fine.

While speaking, he didn’t notice a nurse entering silently.

She was short, stocky, with quick, practiced movements — and left-handed.

Features that oddly matched a minor character he had created long ago: a gruff but tender-hearted nurse.

"Routine check-up, sir," she said softly, recording his temperature and blood pressure.

Before he could ask her anything, she was gone.

Vanished like a ripple across a still lake.

Do I exist in their world, Arav wondered with a weary smile, or do they exist in mine?