A faint, chilly light crept through the attic's small window, coaxing Arin awake before the city's usual noise began. His stomach ached with hunger-a sharp reminder that he'd skipped dinner, too grateful for a safe place to sleep to ask Mrs. Varma for food last night.
He sat up, stretching out the stiffness from his limbs. For the first time since his arrival, he had the luxury to notice himself. The frantic need to survive had left little room for self-reflection. Now, in the quiet, he studied his hands: small, thin, and pale in the morning glow. Curiosity drew him to the window, where he caught his own reflection. The face that stared back was unmistakably young-cheeks still round, nose smaller, eyes bright and sharp. He was tall for his age, but there was no mistaking the youth in his features.
How did I not notice this before? he wondered, a bit stunned. I guess I was just too busy trying to stay alive. The realization was strange, but not unwelcome. Maybe, in this world, starting over wasn't such a bad thing.
His stomach growled again, louder this time. He needed to clean up before facing the day. Moving quietly, he slipped out of the attic and found his way to a small pond behind the building. The air was brisk, and the water even colder, but he forced himself to wash away the grime of the streets. There was no soap or towel-just icy water and determination. He pulled his ragged clothes back on, shivering as he hurried inside.
The city was only just beginning to stir. For a moment, he watched two Spearow quarrel over a crust of bread near a gutter. Here, at least, no one chased him off or looked through him. He lingered by the pond, letting the cold air clear his head, before finally heading back inside.
Mrs. Varma was already at work, unlocking the shop's front door and arranging jars in the window. She glanced up as Arin entered, her gaze sharp but not unfriendly.
"Up early," she noted, eyeing his damp hair and the goosebumps on his arms. "Good. You'll need that habit here."
Arin managed a sheepish smile. "Didn't want to get in the way."
She grunted, then handed him a folded bundle. "Not your size, but better than what you've got. Clean, too."
He accepted the clothes-a faded shirt, sturdy pants, and a sweater with sleeves that hung past his wrists. They smelled faintly of lavender. "Thank you," he said, meaning it.
She also set a plate of breakfast on the counter. "Eat. You'll work better with something in your belly."
Arin didn't hesitate. He devoured the simple meal-rice, a boiled egg, and a cup of tea-grateful for every bite. It was plain, but it was the best thing he'd tasted since waking up in this world.
While he ate, Mrs. Varma moved around the shop, opening jars, stacking boxes, and tidying shelves. "We sell the basics here," she explained. "Pokéblocks, groceries, snacks, a few odds and ends. Out back, I keep vegetables and fast food. Trainers come for supplies, families for groceries. It's not fancy, but it keeps us going."
Arin nodded, taking in the shelves lined with jars of colorful Pokéblocks, baskets of fruit, and bins of vegetables. The shop was cluttered but organized, every bit of space put to use.
When he finished eating, Mrs. Varma handed him a broom. "Clean up the shop and the back room. Sweep, wipe down the counters, dust the jars. I want this place spotless by afternoon."
"Yes, ma'am," Arin replied, rolling up his sleeves. He threw himself into the work, sweeping the floor, wiping shelves, and dusting the rows of jars. The routine was almost soothing, and as the morning wore on, he found himself humming quietly.
He spent hours sorting jars, organizing the back room, and helping Mrs. Varma restock with fresh vegetables and Pokéblocks. He swept out the storeroom, lined up fast food packets, and even managed to chase off a stubborn Rattata that kept sniffing around the potatoes. The day passed in a steady rhythm, broken only by the occasional customer and Mrs. Varma's sharp instructions.
By midday, the shop gleamed. Mrs. Varma inspected his work, her critical gaze missing nothing. Finally, she nodded. "Not bad. You're quick for a kid."
Arin felt a small swell of pride. "Thank you."
She leaned on the counter, studying him. "So, what else can you do? Any skills? Besides cleaning, I mean."
Arin hesitated, then decided to be honest. "I'm good at fixing things. Mechanical stuff, electronics, anything that needs tinkering. I used to help out a lot… back where I'm from."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "You? You look like you can barely see over the counter."
He shrugged. "I'm small, but I'm good with my hands. If you have anything broken, I can try to fix it."
Mrs. Varma considered, then pointed to an old radio on a shelf. "That thing hasn't worked in years. If you can get it running, maybe I'll let you look at the computer in the back. Haven't bothered with repairs-didn't see the point."
Arin's eyes brightened. "I'll give it a shot."
She handed him the radio, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Don't break it further. And don't touch the computer until I say so."
Arin nodded and set the radio aside. He finished his chores, making sure everything was in order. As the sun dipped low and the last customer left, Mrs. Varma began closing up shop. She handed Arin a simple meal-rice, a bit of curry, and a slice of fruit-before heading off to her own quarters.
"Eat up. You'll need your strength if you want to impress me tomorrow," she said, her tone gruff but not unkind.
When the shop was finally dark and quiet, Arin sat behind the counter with the radio. He waited until he was sure Mrs. Varma was gone before carefully opening the back panel. The device was a little different from what he remembered-sleeker, with a few unfamiliar symbols and materials-but the basics were all there. Circuits, wires, soldered joints, power supply: the universal language of machines.
He smiled to himself. For all the talk of advanced technology in this world, the fundamentals hadn't changed. He might have been a hacker before, but he'd studied mechanical engineering first. He couldn't recall the name of his college or the faces of his professors, but the knowledge was still there in his hands.
He found comfort in the work. Even if the world had changed, the challenge of coaxing life from an old machine was something he understood. He cleaned contacts, tightened screws, traced wires, and lost himself in the familiar rhythm.
By the time he finished, the radio was as clean and reassembled as he could make it. He set it aside, feeling a quiet satisfaction at the ache in his fingers.
As he tidied up, Arin's gaze drifted to the back room, where the old computer sat gathering dust. He knew he wouldn't be able to start it up right away-the technology here, while familiar in principle, was still different enough that he'd need time, maybe a week or more, to figure it out, especially without manuals or spare parts.
But for tonight, his thoughts were on the radio and what Mrs. Varma would say when she saw it in the morning. Would she be surprised? Skeptical? Maybe even a little impressed? The thought made him both anxious and hopeful.
Arin found himself looking forward to tomorrow-not just for another meal or a safe bed, but for the chance to show he could contribute, and maybe, just maybe, start to belong.
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