The hallway that led to the stairs had lost its walls to the water seeping underneath it. Zephyr turned the key inside the lock, and then checked if the door was closed tight enough. He moved a couple of steps away, but he couldn't get rid of a looming thought. The bad records of the past urged him to check the door once again, and he came back and pushed the door in and out to have a thorough check. It was indeed locked well.

  And in every sense of the world, no matter which part, even a dufus would recognize the need for such activities. For Zephyr, someone who often had death dealings, it was never smart to be careless and brazenly walk towards his own.

  Walking down the stairs and out of the apartment, he was greeted by the streets of were of no fashion. Nothing fancy but just a cramped walk under the street lamps that never worked, or the common flow of wind here blowing the newspapers away. Zephyr believed this to be a cause of too many men and no women in the area. But on the other hand, this was just a whimsical speculation. He would never recommend this place for men and women alike. Needless to say, he missed the crucial part in his random musings. He definitely amounted to a much larger portion of danger than he’d admit.

  The footwalk was long, but he always loved watching the scenery change from lowlife buildings to bustling skyscrapers. The skyscrapers were the best work from humans – best work of the century. The top of these tall buildings was often his go-to spot. Didn’t matter which building as long as it was tall enough.

  A standout amidst the skyscrapers because of its tiny size, there was a building painted with orange and some shade of red Zephyr never remembered. He walked over the crossing, and passed the road to enter the building with a board emblazoning: was already out of his handbag, and in his hands – a work skillfully completed in the walk itself. He was no pro in sleight of hand, but he wasn’t janky either.

  When he opened the door of the library, the bell chimed. Nothing like the time he died earlier, this one had a clear cause – a clear mechanism. He entered, and he was greeted by the familiar floor that looked like a spread of thousands of chess boards. And like a perfect complement, the librarian looked just the part with her glasses. The kind of lady Zephyr could imagine sitting at the counter of some chess club – if they existed somewhere. But much part of thinking about her was just subconscious as she looked majestic. Much of her beauty was hidden by the glasses, but Zephyr had had his share of looks on her bare face, and… she looked gorgeous.

  But his love was much distributed, and he could never allow a human in it. And this conclusion came after years of love with guns in his nineteen years of life. Nothing he was proud to say, but he was not a man of one. No one gun ever suited him, and never would his love for them last for years. Any muzzle, no matter what kind, it was just never unkissable. To add more in his pocket, he now was developing a forbidden love for machetes too. He couldn’t add a librarian or two and increase his problems.

  Zephyr had walked to the counter, and before he would tap at the table or let their eyes meet to display his presence. The librarian had extended her hand over the glass frame asking for the book. Her situational awareness and what to say of her ability to do dealings without any talks – Zephyr barely withheld his tears of joy. Zephyr commented, and mentally performed a vintage, royal salute for her. This salute had always fascinated him after binge watching an online historical drama series. Thus only a few respectable deserved this.

  The librarian didn’t inform him if the work was done or not, and neither did Zephyr ask. He just walked towards the different shelves, looking at them and recalling what books each one contained. There was a huge clock fitted just above the entrance; it would keep him aware of the time. He had about an hour before his class started.

  But missing a class or two wasn’t that big of a deal. He had zero interest in sitting in a class with dead faces of students and professors. But keeping a check of time was important. Pretty much like a vow, he had a ritual with that purple diary – a ritual that he intended to keep till the end of his life. Everyday at twelve in the noon, he would open the dairy, and mark a person in it. It was already fifteen past ten, so he had to be mindful of the clock.

  Zephyr swivelled the book out the shelf by nudging at its edge with his finger. The title was interesting, to say less, and reading books especially in quiet places like was pleasing – at times. Most of the time, though, it was boring. But reading books was more of a necessity for him than pleasure. It quietened the constant murmurs in his ears.

  He had seated himself at the warm desk which was receiving the sunlight from the small window at the top of the wall. He placed the book on the desk; It was devoid of the light as it was covered by his head. Flapping through the pages, Zephyr didn’t take long to flip open the first chapter titled:

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “”

  Zephyr subtly leaned in at the interesting start.

  “”

  Zephyr’s eyes twitched, and wasting no time, he reread the whole paragraph. How could a sane man of this Earth ever consider in good light? This was just beyond his understanding. Zephyr decided, as it was the only plausible solution.

  But giving the old author some benefit of the doubt, he turned the pages to check when the book was actually published. In small letters, almost hidden, he found the date: two thousand and twenty – a good five years gap.

  Now was never a sweetheart in the last couple of decades. The old man Willy – who owned the downtown gym – did mention that was more about circuses and festivals when he was a child. But that’d be about sixty years ago, and nothing even close to the five. Heck, Zephyr came here ten years ago, and mostly lived at the edges of He could only recommend the town to rats.

  The author’s brain was old and obsolete was the conclusion Zephyr could come to. But to the author’s luck, Zephyr did have a corner in his heart for the old and obsolete – so he continued.

  “”

  Zephyr commented.

  Zephyr chuckled breathily as he never expected the familiar description of the streets he often crossed in a book – especially not in a science literature. This had hit a chord in him, an oddly pleasant one, and his eyes just darted to the next para.

  Zephyr couldn’t close his mouth for a good amount of time. And what followed it wasn’t a thought, but just a quiet, slight scrunching of his nose. Twenty years ago in an hospital… this single line had boomed Zephyr’s brain in all directions.

  Zephyr lifted his handbag, and swiped the chain open to take out his phone. He wanted to know more about this man – Dr. Tenvor Autoski. He typed in his phone – ‘Dr. Tenvor Autoski Bucklemore’ – and it did not give the desired results. For some reasons, it was filled with promotion as some tourist site. Zephyr hissed at their stupidity, and clicked on the search box once again. This time he wrote – ‘Dr. Tenvor Autoski’s children.’ And the results were quite unexpected. He opened the third news article titled: ‘Chairman of MPA, shares his stories.’

  The article had ‘three years old’ written under its title in italics.

  The article praised him as no less than a selfless god, and Zephyr was already suspicious of bribes doing the talking in the article, and not just the writer. Zephyr skimmed through all of it quickly; his reading skills were honed for years, so it didn’t take him long. He caught a word: ‘son’