Return With Skills

I wake up early the next morning, feeling refreshed despite the late night. The aroma of Mom's cooking wafts into my room, and I can hear her humming a familiar tune.

"You wake early today?" she asks as I enter the kitchen.

"Yes," I reply, smiling at her. "I've got plans."

Abhi stumbles in, his eyes half-closed. "What's the rush?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

"Today, I'm going to the cafe," I tell him, taking a sip of the steaming tea she's poured for me. "To do some work."

Mom looks up from the stove, a frown etching her features. "But it's Sunday," she says, a hint of worry in her voice.

"I know," I assure her. "But it's important."

"Okay," she says, handing me a plate of parathas. "But promise me you won't overdo it."

"I won't," I promise, feeling a twinge of guilt for the secrets I'm keeping.

As I'm about to leave, she presses some money into my hand. "For the cafe," she says, her voice filled with hope. "And maybe for some shopping if you need anything."

"Thanks, Mom," I murmur, taking the money.

Her eyes follow me as I leave, filled with a mix of concern and pride. I know she's counting on me, and I won't let her down.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon as I step out into the quiet streets of Delhi, ready to face whatever challenges the day may bring.

As I make my way to the bus stand, the thought of the lottery crosses my mind. It's a quick and easy way to get some cash without causing too much of a ripple in the timeline. The status window flickers to life.

L: "Master, the lottery is a simple choice that could bring you immediate funds."

"I know," I murmur, nodding to myself. "I'll just buy a ticket or two."

When I spot the lottery stall, my heart races. The storekeeper notices my excitement and calls out, "Come on boy, try your luck today!"

I approach, pretending to scan the lottery tickets casually. "Master," L whispers, "the winning number is *****."

I heard and randomly selected a few tickets, making sure to grab the one she mentioned. "How much is the jackpot?" I ask, playing it cool.

"10 lakh," he says, his eyes gleaming with the allure of the prize. (About 18,500, USD in 2012)

"Wow," I feign amazement. "Alright, I'll take these." I pay for the tickets, trying not to let my hope show.

As I walk away, I can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. Winning the lottery would be a game-changer for us, and it would be a small, insignificant change in the grand scheme of things. It's a risk worth taking.

I feel a little guilty about the lottery. It feels like I'm taking the easy way out. "I know it's just a small thing, L," I murmur to myself. "But it's like I'm stealing money from someone else."

"Master," L's voice soothes my conscience. "It is a small act, and it will bring joy to your family. Besides, fate is a fickle thing. Perhaps it was always meant to be."

Her words comfort me, and I push aside my guilt. It's just a game of chance, after all. I'll use the money wisely to help us get back on our feet.

Once at the cafe, I set up my laptop and start planning. I'll write a blog post about renewable energy, something that could be useful and relevant to the people of 2012 Delhi. It's not much, but it's a start.

As the caffeine kicks in and the ideas start flowing, I remember L's earlier advice. "I'm going to start small," I tell her. "But I'm going to make sure it counts."

The status window flickers with her approval. "Good choice, Master," she says. "Starting small allows for careful growth and less disruption."

I nod, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I begin to type. The future is in my hands, and I won't let it slip away.

As I emerge with my blog, a notification pops up in the corner of my eye. [Writing Skill Acquired - Level 1]. I smile to myself, feeling a surge of gratitude towards L.

"What's that?" I murmur, not taking my eyes off the screen.

"As your wish, you can learn any skill you want," L explains. "And I can upgrade those skills, like your writing."

"So anything I want, I can learn it?" I ask, my mind racing with the possibilities.

"Yes, even if you've never learned or done that job, you can learn it," she confirms. "Just tell me what you want to learn."

"Let me upgrade my writing skills," I decide on the spot.

The status window acknowledges my request. [Writing Skill Updated - Level 2, Level 3, Level 4, Maxed].

"You can write now, Master," L says in a smug tone.

"Thanks," I reply, feeling the difference in my fingertips. The words flow more easily now, and I'm more confident in my ability to communicate.

As I'm engrossed in my writing, a lady with luxurious branded clothes enters the cafe. She's dressed so modernly that she seems out of place in 2012 Delhi. She sits at the last table, sets down her laptop, and calls for the waiter. "Do you have Wi-Fi?" she asks, her voice filled with urgency.

The waiter nods, handing her a chit with the password. She frowns as she types it in, glancing around the cafe in annoyance. "Why isn't it connecting?" she murmurs to herself, growing more agitated by the second.

Her frustration is palpable, and it's starting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere. I look up from my work, my heart going out to her. "Ma'am, if you don't mind, I can take a look," I offer, approaching her table.

Her eyes sweep over me, and she sighs heavily. "Kid, I don't have time for games," she says dismissively. "This is a professional matter."

The lady, after giving me a once-over, sighs heavily and says, "Kid, go play games. It's not a problem you can solve."

I shrug it off and return to my own table, resuming my blogging. She continues to fuss with her laptop, growing more and more flustered as she fails to connect to the Wi-Fi.

I have been using computers for more than 14 years, and my typing speed is much faster than the average person's. Now that my skill level is at its peak, my speed has increased tenfold

As I type away with surprising speed and proficiency, she can't help but peek over occasionally.

She thought I was just typing randomly, but she came closer and secretly peeked at my screen from behind. Her eyes widen when she recognizes the popular blogging platform on my screen and the eloquent prose I'm crafting.

"Your skills are impressive," she comments, finally giving up on her own device. "What are you writing?"

"Just sharing some knowledge," I reply nonchalantly, not looking up.

"Well, if you can write like that, maybe you can help me," she says, a hint of desperation in her voice. "My computer's acting up, and I need to submit an urgent email."

I consider her for a moment, then nod. "I'd be happy to assist."

The status window flashes with a message: [Social Skill Increased].

I take a seat beside her, and with a few deft keystrokes, I bypass the Wi-Fi issue and connect her to the internet. She gasps as the screen lights up with a successful connection.

"Thank you," she whispers, her eyes filled with relief. "What did you do?"

"Just a little driver issue," I say with a smile. "It always needs to be updated."

Her gaze lingers on me, a mix of awe and suspicion. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, I am actually from here," I reply.

I go back to my screen and continue typing. She observes me for a moment before starting her own job. The sound of our fingers tapping away on our keyboards fills the air, punctuated by the occasional clinking of spoons and the murmur of distant conversations.

The lady, whose name I learn is Anushka, glances at me from the corner of her eye. She seems intrigued by my focus and efficiency. After a while, she breaks the silence. "What's your secret?" she asks. "How can you write so well?"

I shrug. "Practice and passion," I say, a twinkle in my eye.

Anushka nods thoughtfully. "I could use some of that," she murmurs, turning back to her own work.

As we sit side by side, the cafe starts to fill up with the morning rush. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries fills the air.

The status window flickers, reminding me of my purpose. [Design Skill Increased]. I've made a small difference today, and it feels good.

"Thank you again," Anushka says as she finishes her email and packs up her laptop. "Sorry about earlier."

"No Problem," I say, smiling. "And good luck with whatever you're working on."

As Anushka gets ready to leave, she looks over at me with a soft smile. "Let me pay for your meal, as an apology for earlier," she says, placing a few bills on the table.

I look at the money, feeling a bit awkward. "It's okay, really," I protest.

"Please, let me," she insists. "It's the least I can do."

I nod, accepting her offer. "Thank you," I murmur, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and embarrassment.

As she walks out of the cafe, the status window flashes with another update. [Persuasion Skill Increased]. It seems my interactions today have had more of an impact than I anticipated.

I sit back in my chair, mulling over the morning's events.

Just as I'm about to leave the cafe, Anushka rushes back in, her eyes wide with relief. "Thank God you're still here," she says, panting slightly. "I need to make a presentation, but my laptop's battery is dead. Can I use yours for a few minutes?"

Her urgency is palpable, and I can't help but feel a bit of stress on her behalf. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"I don't have time," she says, her voice tight with anxiety. "Can you just let me use it?"

I nod, handing her the laptop without a second thought. "Of course," I say.

As she opens the presentation software, her fingers fly over the keyboard, but she's making mistake after mistake. The typos and grammatical errors are glaring.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my concern growing.

"I'm fine," she snaps, her eyes filling with frustration. "I just... I don't have time for this."

"Let me help," I offer, seeing her struggle. "I can type fast."

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Okay, but you have to be quick."

As she dictates, I type away, correcting her errors and adding a bit of flair here and there. She's describing a revolutionary new cleaning technology, something that could be incredibly valuable in a city like Delhi.

In no time, we've finished the presentation and she's breathing a sigh of relief. She hits send, and the email zooms off into the digital abyss. She looks over at me, her eyes brimming with gratitude. "Thank you," she whispers, before hugging me tightly.

The sudden embrace catches me off guard, but I return the gesture awkwardly. For a woman in her twenties, hugging a fourteen-year-old boy isn't unusual, but for me, who is actually twenty-nine, it feels a bit uncomfortable.

As she gathers her things, she says, "Thank You again. What is Your Name?"

"Jain. Jain Sen." I reply.

As Anushka left, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. I had made someone's day easier, and in doing so, I had also gained new skills. I knew that my journey to change our lives would be fraught with challenges, but moments like these reminded me why I had made the pact with Cuyle in the first place.

I packed up my laptop and left the cafe, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face as I stepped outside. The streets of Delhi were bustling with activity, and the cacophony of honking cars and shouting street vendors was a stark contrast to the quiet sanctuary I had found inside.

As I made my way home, my thoughts drifted to the lottery tickets in my pocket.

The apartment building loomed ahead, and I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. I had so much to do, so many plans to set in motion. But for now, I would bask in the small victory of the morning.

As I climbed the stairs, the status window flickered again. [Interpersonal Skill Increased]. It seems my interactions with Anushka had not only been beneficial for her but had also helped me grow in ways I didn't expect.

Finally reaching our apartment, I took a deep breath before opening the door. The smell of home-cooked food greeted me, and I could hear the faint sound of Abhi's video game in the background.

Mom looked up from her work, a warm smile spreading across her face. "How was the cafe?" she asked, her eyes full of curiosity.

"It was fine," I replied, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. "Just working on a little something."

"Good," she said, her gaze lingering on me for a moment before returning to her task.