Shyam woke up to Ira jumping on his back.
"Big bro, wake up! Mom's here!" she screamed as she jumped more frequently each time.
Shyam slowly rubbed his eyes.
He left his bedroom, and an incredible scent of delicious food instantly made its way through his half-blocked nose.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. Wash your face, I don't have much time," a woman from behind the kitchen said as she tucked the spoon in a pan and spun it.
It was Anjali, Shyam's big sister—and also, Ira's mother.
"When will you stop trespassing in my house?"
Shyam said as he walked toward the bathroom.
"As long as I get to see Ira, I always will!" she replied as she winked at Shyam. Pitch black hair, brown eyes just like Ira, and an awfully beautiful face.
She wore an apron, but underneath it was an orange T-shirt—tight!
Tight red pants that clung to her legs like they owed her money, and two mismatching socks that argued over who's the whitest.
Her hair was tied back, round like a khopa. No one would suspect that she might even have a twelve-year-old child. No one!
"You know I am your little brother, right?" Shyam said.
"No wonder you have no girlfriend!" Anjali replied.
"Who says?" Shyam asked as he pulled out his picture collection of all the anime girls—rather, wives!—he had collected over the years.
"These are all my wives, yahaha," Shyam said as he put them back.
"Oh! So you flex over a few waifu card collections? Well, see this!" Anjali said as she pulled out her monthly salary bill.
A bright white light flashed before Shyam's eyes as he fell down to his knees like a soldier who just lost to his wife.
"What are you playing with, big bro-mom?" Ira asked excitedly.
Of course she would—as a child, seeing one act would supposedly increase her dopamine to do the same.
If not, she might not be a normal child.
"Nothing, sweety. Could you give me that plate over there?"
Anjali said as she pointed her finger toward a plate on the plate rack, while Shyam took a round of the bathroom to freshen up.
After that, all three of them sat down at the dining table and ate breakfast—which, for Shyam, was nothing less than a perfect meal.
After a hundred appreciations, they finally finished eating.
"No work today?" Anjali asked Shyam as she stood at the door with Ira holding her index finger.
"Nope, completely free. Though I guess I could go take a look if anything's wrong later," Shyam replied.
"Eh... just take full advantage of your day off, bro," Anjali said as she opened the door,
"and keep yourself healthy. Please..." she added.
"Bye, big bro!" Ira shouted as they closed the door.
"Bye, ethe—" he wanted to say something but feared someone might hear him. Well, that was an excuse.
After staring at the door like it was an empty void that called him, he finally picked up the studio keys and locked his own apartment room.
It was still eight in the morning, and the sun had yet to rise properly.
Even still, it poured light onto the ground just as it did every day, for everyone.
Not knowing someone might be hating it—or loving it more than they should.
Shyam wasn't the type to appreciate nature much, at least not after what it had done to his precious little sister.
But he didn't hate it enough to start yapping random slugs at it either.
After a nice little morning walk, he climbed the apartment stairs with all the stamina he saved while clicking random pictures of street dogs on the way there.
One step, two steps, three steps.
The rooms now visible. Something else with them.
A woman coughing, falling to the ground as she tried to cover her mouth with a handkerchief.
She tried to hold the wall as support, but it was too slippery for her to grip.
Shyam rushed to her as soon as he saw her.
Her face was covered with the handkerchief, so it was hard to tell if he knew her—but identity shouldn't matter when one faces danger.
Shyam quickly opened the studio doors and somehow brought her inside.
She still coughed heavily, as if she would take her last two breaths any moment now.
Fortunately, after drinking some water, she became normal.
She finally let go of the handkerchief. Her face was brightly visible now.
"Aravi?" Shyam asked as he saw her face.
It was Aravi—the same girl who would always ignore him. Not just him, but often his greetings as well.
Although Shyam still hadn't stopped waving at her... but that is a different story!
"Sorry if I disturbed you," Aravi murmured as she tried to take heavy breaths and stand up.
"Oh no! The studio is closed today, you can rest for however many hours as you'd like!" Shyam said as he made her a cup of hot tea.
"That's very kind of you. If you say so, thank you for having me," she whispered as she took the cup in her hands and blew air on it to cool it down.
"So... like, are you sick?" Shyam asked as he took a small sip of his tea.
Aravi flinched.
It was sudden—a question she hadn't prepared an answer for in advance.
"Um... well, not exactly sick. But I am okay now!"
She said as she coughed a few more times.
"Yeah, I don't think you are..." Shyam said as he took another sip.
His eyes were narrowed, as if trying to see through something a normal human might not.
Or maybe he was having a struggle seeing properly. Whatever!
"I am, I promise!" she tried to push, but accidentally fell on the ground once again.
Shyam dashed to help her get back on the chair.
The moment he held her soft hands again, he felt something.
Something he knew too well. The type of hand he hadn't yet gotten used to touching.
It was too soft to be of a human's, but too strong to be a ghost's.
It could only be...
"Aravi, do you have Flux Syndrome?"
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E-2