Package Delivered (Maya Krishnamurthy #3)

2019

It was one of those mornings, where I felt that something was about to happen. A sudden wave of intrigue engulfed all my brain cells. I opened the balcony door and stood leaning on the railing, with a cup of warm coffee. I caressed the cup in my palms, inhaling a whiff of roasted coffee beans.

Not even I had taken a single sip, I heard the doorbell ring. I had no visitors in the mornings, usually. Intrigued, I placed my cup on the little stool in the balcony and went to the hall. I looked through the peephole and found a delivery person standing at the entrance. Though I remembered that I did not order anything, I opened the door.

“Is this Maya Krishnamurthy?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” I replied, puzzled.

“There’s a package for you,” he said, stretching it out to me.

“Thank you.”

I picked it up carefully and examined it. The delivery man moved away without another look. The package was wrapped in a neat brown paper with a red satin bow pasted on the top. I placed it on the teapoy, contemplating whether to open it. Nowhere the sender’s name was written. Not even an accidental pen mark. Since I lived alone, I was cautious of such things.

Anyway, I unwrapped it and found a thick maroon leather-bound diary with the words ‘Zeit’ engraved on it in a silver font. Immediately, I pulled out my phone from my pant’s pocket and googled the word ‘Zeit’. It was the German translation of the word ‘time’. Someone clearly knew that I was obsessed with learning about time and that I was also a part-time writer, who loved writing in a diary, but couldn’t find time to do it. Mystified, I opened the first page. As expected, someone had written on it.

‘Dear Maya,

Please write all the interesting ideas and experiences in here. Doing this will change your life. Please don’t repeat the excuse of not having enough time. Also, don’t worry. This is not a scam. Have belief and start writing.’

If I said I was confused, I would be underestimating myself. I was flabbergasted at the casuality of the writing. I also could not comprehend the connection between ‘Zeit’ and the note written on the first page.

I didn’t want to question anything. If I thought too much, I usually ended up with anxiety. So, I just took a few deep breaths and did what was instructed in the diary.

I began to record all my ideas and experiences from then.

*****

2030

Tara brought in a plate of sandwiches for me and crackled, “Maya, breakfast time.”

Before I could pat her metallic head, she skated away from me. I sat down on my bed and took a bite out of one of the sandwiches. It was the yummiest dish I had had for breakfast. Seriously, robots were great chefs.

After breakfast, I opened my laptop and stared at the blank page. Even after a full tummy, the words didn’t flow. They just did not come to me. Frustated, I shut the laptop fiercely and began fidgeting.

Just then, Tara brought in her tablet and showed the screen to me. It was written, ‘Type in your problems and we will provide you a solution by sending objects to your past. We have already sent more than a thousand objects to the past of many people. Soon, we will be sending people to the past. Yes, time-travel is real now!’

I laughed out loud reading the ad. Even after years of learning, research, and experimentation, I, as a scientist by profession, could not find a way to travel through time. How could someone have invented it?

Tara nudged me to type something. So, I typed, ‘I am suffering from a severe bout of writer’s block…’

When I clicked on ‘Submit’, I saw someone typing from the other end. This was their message, ‘Just go to sleep, Maya. Tomorrow morning, everything will be different.’

I let out another chuckle, thinking that it was a huge joke. If what was written in the website was true, I wondered what object it would send to my past to help me.

A few seconds later, I realized that it was really a joke. If the website was genuine, I must have received an object in the past. But I didn’t remember receiving anything strange at any time. Satisfied that it was a scam, I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up, rather fresh. My first thought was about the peculiar ad. I looked for Tara, but she was nowhere to be seen. I was just about to open the bedroom door, when I noticed something strange. There was a poster with a popular Stephen King quote,

Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy.

My heart thudded mercilessly. I didn’t remember buying it.

“Tara!” I hollered.

“Yes, Maya,” she crackled and came to me in a jiffy.

“Did you hang this Stephen King quote here?”

“Nope. You did that.”

“Me? I never bought this.”

“Okay, if that’s surprising, there’s more. Go to the third row of your bookshelf and see for yourself.”

I hurried to the bookshelf and rummaged the third row, which was filled with crime-fiction novels. There, amidst Christie’s mysteries, sat a maroon leather-bound diary.

“What is this?” I turned the pages and found them filled with my handwriting. “I didn’t write these things.”

“You did, but not from the timeline from which you came.”

“What? Tara, you’re going to explain me clearly.”

“Maya, yesterday when you replied to the ad, the agency sent a diary to your past-self to write all her ideas and experiences in it, so that you can read them today and overcome writer’s block.”

“But, how can I not remember writing them?”

“That’s simple. When they sent the diary, they changed the course of events. Another timeline was created, where you wrote these. Yesterday when you went to sleep, you were in your original timeline, where you didn’t write the diary. But since they sent it to you today morning and your past-self began writing on it, you woke up in the new timeline.”

Once again, I opened the pages and read a few lines.

“My precious ideas!” I cried and hugged the diary to my chest. My next bestsellers were already half-ready.

Also, the scientist in me decided to meet the people behind the website. After all, time-travel should become the new normal.

FOOTNOTE: I wrote this flash-fic for a prompt by Terribly Tiny Tales. But I expanded the story and posted it here. This is a part of A Time Damsel (Maya Krishnamurthy series).