Aanya

I'd spent Sunday going through the files Jay sent, cross-referencing names and dates, looking for patterns I might have missed. By evening my eyes burned and I'd found nothing new. Ma had forced me to eat dinner at the table instead of my desk. She knew something was wrong but didn't ask. Monday morning I was back at Malhotra General.

I pushed through the main doors and shook the rain from my jacket, water dripping onto the rough matting laid out to catch it. The morning had been a waste.

I'd caught Desai at her desk, hoping Jay's research might shift her thinking. It hadn't. She'd been pinching the bridge of her nose while I talked her through the findings: Dr. Iyer's strange theories, the equipment requisitions, the Malhotra Foundation funding trails leading to temple infrastructure. She had a headache and a briefing in twenty minutes, and she wasn't in the mood to entertain tangents. I'd told her to get the headaches checked out. She'd told me to stop being dramatic, that people get headaches.

We'd parted frustrated, again. I'd filed a subpoena for Dr. Iyer's research records on my way out. Desai could countersign it later or not. Then I'd told her I was going to interview Dr. Iyer about the mesh compatibility assessments, keep it routine, and she'd warned me not to spook her before we had something solid.

I stowed my wet raincoat in a plastic shopping bag and crossed the lobby to the lifts. Dr. Iyer's office was on the third floor, past the labs and around a corner from the main patient wards. I'd checked her schedule before coming. Monday afternoon was marked as administrative time, which usually meant paperwork in the office. Good chance of catching her there.

The corridor was quiet. A cleaner pushed a mop bucket past, nodding as I stepped aside to let him through. I found the door marked Dr. P. Iyer, Neurobiology Research and knocked.

No answer.

I tried the handle. Unlocked. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was spare and neat. A desk sat beside the window, its surface mostly clear except for a scratch pad and a small framed photograph. Projected documents floated above the desk, data tables and notes I couldn't read from the doorway. The window looked out on the rain-slicked courtyard below, the Bal Devi shrine visible through the downpour. A whiteboard hung on one wall, some sort of schedule grid with dates and tick marks. A coffee maker occupied a side table beside a potted money plant, its leaves glossy and well-tended. A child's artwork covered the opposite wall: elephants in crayon, a family under a rainbow, a cat with too many legs.

A photograph on the desk caught my attention. I crossed to look at it. A young girl, maybe six years old, smiling at the camera. Dark hair, gap-toothed grin, school uniform. The frame was polished, positioned where it would catch the light.

"Who are you?"

I spun. The door had hidden her until I moved past it. A girl sat in a chair in the corner behind it, a notebook open on her lap. She clutched a pencil and stared at me with suspicious directness.

"You're not supposed to be in Mummy's office!"

I looked from her to the photograph on the desk. The same girl. Same age, same face, but scowling now.

"I'm Police Inspector Mehta," I said gently. "Is your mother Dr. Priya Iyer?"

The girl nodded slowly, suspicion giving way to uncertainty. She glanced toward the door, then back at me.

"She'll be back soon. She just went to the washroom."

"No problem. I can wait. What are you drawing?"

She looked down at her notebook, then back up. "Elephants."

"May I see?"

She hesitated, then turned the notebook to show me. Pencil sketches filled the page, elephants in various poses. They were good for a child her age, the proportions mostly right, the trunks curving naturally.

"Very nice. You like elephants?"

"They're my favourite." She relaxed slightly, the notebook lowering to her lap. "Mummy took me to the zoo once."

Then she blinked out of existence.

My gut clenched. The chair sat empty, and when I crossed to it and touched the fabric there was nothing. No warmth, no indication anyone had been there. No pencil. No notebook. Gooseflesh prickled up my arms.

That's when I noticed all my interface icons were gone. My connection was down.

The mesh cut back in. She stood two metres away, clutching the notebook to her chest.

"Where did you go?" Her voice trembled. "You disappeared!"

Cautiously, I straightened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You were there and then you weren't!" She backed toward the wall, eyes wide. "What happened?"

I stepped once toward her, extending my hand. My fingers brushed her arm.

She felt real. Warm skin, the texture of her sleeve, the slight give of flesh beneath fabric. Highest resolution projection I'd ever experienced, if that's what this was. Haptic feedback so perfect I couldn't tell it from touching a living child.

She jerked away, pressing her back against the wall. "Stay back!"

"What are you?" I blurted.

"I'm Aanya!" Her voice rose, shrill with fear. "I'm real! Mummy says I'm real!"

She ran.

Not toward the door. Through the wall.

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Thanks for reading! This was a preview of Mumbai Singularity, releasing March 10, 2026. If you want to find out what Aanya is (and what's really happening at Malhotra General) the full novel is available for preorder on Amazon.