Aarav had seen everything in his dream. The masked man. The bag of money. The car with the number plate glaring at him like it was mocking his paralysis. Late evening… possibly tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. He didn't know exactly when, but one thing was clear: he was not taking any chances.
"I am not gonna ignore this anymore…" he muttered to himself, scrambling out of bed. His legs hit the floor with a thud, and he stumbled a little, but recovered instantly, straightening his posture as if the universe was watching him. Dramatic enough? he thought. I hope it feels dramatic enough.
"I remember the number plate," he said aloud, voice shaking with excitement—or maybe just the adrenaline—his words echoing in the quiet room.
He spun around, searching frantically for a book and pen, as if this were a race against destiny itself. His hand knocked over a stack of notebooks on the desk; one fell to the floor with a sad thump. He ignored it. Not now, notebook, the world depends on me.
Finally, he found a book—lined, slightly worn, the kind of book that seemed to beg for heroic scribbles—and a pen, its tip already ready to capture fate itself. He plopped down on the edge of his bed, legs dangling like a protagonist in a scene that demanded tension.
"It was the City Bank… only fifteen minutes away from my school if I'm not wrong," he muttered, pacing slightly as he spoke, like giving himself a pep talk while also measuring the gravity of the situation.
He opened the notebook with a flourish, as if unveiling an ancient tome, and grabbed the pen with a grip that made it look like he was wielding a sword. "Alright… focus…" he whispered.
He began writing the number plate down—DL8C A9327—slowly, dramatically, imagining that every stroke of the pen was carving justice into the universe. He paused halfway through, squinting at it. "Yes… yes, perfect. The world revolves around me in this moment," he said, chest puffed out just slightly, as if destiny itself had paused to watch.
He wrote down everything he remembered, line by line, scene by scene. "Alright… noted… late evening… maybe around six to eight PM… bank robbery…" He paused, tapping the pen on his lip as if savoring the gravity of his role. "Not sure exactly when this is gonna happen… but I am going to start going to the City Bank every evening until I stop that bastard from doing anything."
He closed the notebook with a dramatic snap, leaning back against the wall with a self-satisfied grin. "Yes… justice shall be served. And I… am its herald."
He yawned, stretching his arms theatrically toward the ceiling, letting out a sound that was half exhaustion, half "look how heroic I am." His eyes glanced at the clock. 3:10 AM.
"I should probably hop back to bed… from tomorrow it's going to get… slightly exhausting," he said aloud, shaking his head and grinning at his own overconfidence.
He flopped back onto the bed, tucking the notebook carefully beside him, like it was a relic of immense power. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders, curling into a position that made him look almost heroic even while asleep, muttering softly to himself as his eyelids drooped:
Tomorrow… the City Bank… I will be ready… the world is mine to save…
And with that, Aarav sank into sleep, dreaming of crime, destiny, and the inevitable exaggeration of his own greatness.
The night passed away.
Sunlight spilled through the window, harsh and unrelenting, landing squarely on Aarav's face. His eyes scrunched shut, lips puckered as though he'd bitten into something incredibly sour and foul. A groan escaped him as he rolled over. Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyelids fluttered open.
He blinked. The clock read 6:41 AM.
School starts at eight… can't be late. Not today.
Today, he had a mission. Today, he would start taking responsibility for stopping whoever that masked thief was from robbing the City Bank.
He swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the floor. First things first: personal hygiene.
The bathroom greeted him with the usual morning chill. He turned the tap, letting the water warm to the perfect temperature. Splash. Cold at first, then warmth, waking his senses.
He reached for his toothbrush, applying exactly the right amount of toothpaste—not too much, not too little. The bristles moved in perfect, circular motions, counting each rotation mentally. Up, down, left, right—his mouth a precise map of cleanliness.
Next, flossing. Carefully, deliberately, threading the string between each tooth like a jeweler working on a delicate necklace. Every bit of plaque removed, every corner scrubbed.
Aarav rinsed, then swirled mouthwash—strong enough to burn slightly, just enough to ensure no trace of morning breath could betray him. He spat, grinned at his reflection, and gave himself a nod of approval. Perfect.
He grabbed a towel, drying his face with deliberate strokes, and glanced at his hair. Messy. Not acceptable. A quick comb-through, adjusting every strand. Then, for a touch of flair, he slicked it back slightly, the kind of subtle perfection that made him feel… invincible.
Time for the uniform.
He reached for his neatly ironed school uniform. The shirt was crisp, collar sharp, sleeves perfectly aligned. Aarav inspected it like an artist examining a masterpiece before display. He buttoned it with precise movements, tucked it in flawlessly, then adjusted the belt of his trousers with military-like efficiency. Socks? Pulled up evenly. Shoes? Polished to a subtle shine, laces tied in perfect symmetry.
Packing the school bag was no less ceremonial. Textbooks, notebooks, pens, and pencils were arranged in neat, almost obsessive order. Each notebook facing the correct direction, pens aligned along the sides, lunch carefully packed and double-checked. He even added a small hand sanitizer at the top, in case he had to touch anything suspicious during his "mission."
Finally, he paused. Looked at himself in the mirror. Every move… perfect. Ready.
He adjusted his watch. Checked the time again. 6:57 AM. Plenty of time.
Aarav straightened his back, puffed his chest slightly, and muttered under his breath, full of quiet determination:
"Alright… today, justice begins. That thief doesn't stand a chance."
And with that, he slung the bag over his shoulder, opening the door to step out—ready to face the world, ready to face destiny, and very, very ready to save the City Bank.
The ride toward school was a blur.
Not because of the speed, but because his mind was a storm of thoughts. How was he going to capture the thief? How would he take the credit? Would the news call him a hero? Would people know his name? Would they call him… The Justice? Would he be an idol, admired and envied by everyone?
The possibilities swirled around in his head like a tornado of ego and ambition. He grinned to himself, imagining headlines with his face plastered across them. Aarav saves City Bank, Stops Masked Robber, Becomes National Hero. Yes… that sounded perfect.
He was the type of person who was full of himself. Granted a power like this, he believed he could do anything. Nothing was impossible. Nothing could stand in his way.
But deep down, somewhere buried beneath the bravado, a small, quiet thought whispered: Everything that is too big… is one day crushed. The bigger it is, the harder it falls.
Shaking the thought away, Aarav arrived at school. The gates were no different from any other morning. The chatter, the laughter, the scolding teachers—they all blended into a familiar rhythm. Yet, in Aarav's mind, everything was different. Every step he took was toward destiny, every glance a rehearsal for heroism.
He walked in with confidence that bordered on arrogance, yet it suited him.
Studies: Aarav excelled, earning respect from teachers. Each perfect score, each meticulous assignment, each cleverly answered question made him feel untouchable.
Friends: His communication skills made him a natural leader among his peers. People listened. People followed. Respect? He had it in abundance.
Appearance & Presence: Clean, well-groomed, smelling faintly of cologne, looking sharp in his uniform—girls noticed. And he knew they noticed. Confidence radiated off him, a silent aura that drew attention without effort.
He smiled to himself as he walked past groups of students. Every step was measured, precise. Every gesture deliberate. Aarav had always been aware of how the world saw him—and he liked what it saw.
Yes… he thought, I'm perfect. I'm ready. Today, I'll start my journey as the hero no one else dares to be.
And yet, beneath that confidence, a small, thrilling tension hummed through him. The City Bank. The thief. His dreams.
Today… everything would begin.