The chipped paint on the wrought-iron gate seemed to mock Ayush's ten years of loyal service. For the last ten years, he has been delivering food to the doorsteps of his customers. But today is special. He is going to attend an interview that could be a potential lifeline to overcome his financial challenges.
While riding his bike to the interview venue, Ayush was reflecting on his past. He was thinking about how he started working at the age of 18 years because of the poor financial condition of his family. Since then, he has been working day and night. A lot of change has also happened in terms of family burden – that has increased over time – but the income has not increased much. Now he has to support his wife, a four-year-old son and his old mother. Next year, one additional burden of sending his son to school. Gradually, his worn delivery bag felt heavier than usual, as if the weight of his family's needs were pressing down on him.
It was 9:30 AM. Ayush reached the interview venue – it was an old house. The house stood shrouded in an unnatural gloom, even in the bright morning sun. As his hand reached for the doorbell, a breathy whisper, laced with an unsettling sweetness, slithered from within. "Come in, Ayush."
The door swung inward, unbidden, revealing an inky blackness that swallowed the light. A cold dread, sharp and sudden, pierced Ayush’s resolve. He took a hesitant step inside, his hand instinctively reaching for the doorknob. Then, with a violent gust of wind, the door slammed shut, plunging him into absolute darkness.
His throat was pricked by panic. He was trying to sound confident, but his voice was trembling a little. He remembered that his friend had mentioned that a woman called "Maya" would be conducting the interview. Ayush then yelled, "Miss Maya? I'm Ayush, and I'm here for the interview. He was met with thick, oppressive silence. "Miss Maya?" he tried again, his voice a little higher, a little more desperate. "Are you okay?"
Only the ominous creak of the house settling around him responded. He fumbled for a light switch, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every step forward was a leap into the future. Suddenly, a blinding, overwhelming radiance erupted. Ayush squeezed his eyes shut, shielding himself from a brilliance so intense, it felt like a physical blow. He opened them slowly, cautiously, his breath catching in his throat. His world had been transformed.
The room pulsed with an impossible, opulent light, reflecting off unimaginable wealth. Mountains of gold—gold utensils shimmering like a thousand suns, gold jewellery spilling like a river of molten fire, even grotesquely lifelike human figures sculpted entirely from gold—were everywhere. The very air seemed to hum with the weight of its metallic glory. Gold birds perched on gold window frames, and gold curtains billowed in an unseen breeze. And in the centre, a circular staircase, each golden tread a perfect, flawless step climbed into the unseen upper floor, waited. The sight was breathtaking, terrifying, utterly surreal. The interview he’d come for was utterly forgotten. This was no ordinary house; this was a gilded tomb, a place of unimaginable opulence and unspeakable secrets.
Ayush could barely breathe. The golden glimmer dazzled his eyes, and for a moment, he wondered if he had entered a dream. Still gripping the strap of his old delivery bag, he whispered to himself, “What is this place?”
The staircase gleamed. He took a step forward, almost expecting it to vanish beneath his weight. But it was solid. Real. Every part of his mind screamed to leave, but something stronger—curiosity, or perhaps desperation—pushed him to climb the stairs.
At the top, he found a large wooden door with strange engravings. Before he could knock, it creaked open.
Inside, seated on an ornate throne, was a woman unlike anyone Ayush had ever seen. She wore a deep red saree with threads of gold woven into every inch. Her hair flowed like black silk and her eyes were calm but commanding.
“You must be Ayush,” she said.
He gulped, unsure how to respond. “Y-yes… I was told about a delivery job.”
She smiled. “Indeed. But first, I must ask: do you know the price of ambition?
Ayush frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You have a good heart,” she said. “Ten years of hard work, no shortcuts, always loyal, always humble. But today, I offer you something rare. Deliver my parcels, and I will reward you with gold—real gold, for each successful delivery.”
Ayush blinked. “Gold? But why me?”
“I see many things others don’t. You’re trustworthy, Ayush. That matters more than education or money.”
He hesitated. “Is this… legal?”
She laughed, not unkindly. “More than legal. But not simple. You’ll carry things that most can’t see. You’ll go places others won’t enter. And each delivery will test your courage.”
Ayush thought of his son’s school admission, of his mother’s medicine bills, and of his wife stitching clothes at night to save money. He took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll do it.
She clapped her hands. A table appeared beside him with a small, antique box. “Your first parcel. Deliver it to the address written underneath. And remember, do not open it.”
As he stepped out of the golden mansion, the sun hit his face again. Everything looked normal. Ordinary. Except for the box in his hand and the strange warmth in his chest.
The address led him to a quiet old house on the city’s edge. He knocked. An old man opened the door, his eyes misty. When he saw the box, he smiled and bowed. “Thank you, young man. I’ve waited years for this".
Ayush handed it over, still confused. The man gave him a tiny envelope in return. Inside was a gold coin - pure, heavy. Ayush could barely believe it.
He returned to the golden mansion, and more deliveries awaited. Each one stranger than the last: a parcel to a blind artist who painted visions of the future; a box to a boy who hadn’t spoken since birth but sang a lullaby after opening it.
Weeks passed. Ayush worked harder than ever, delivering to people across the city. Yet, despite the mystery, none of it ever felt wrong. On the contrary, it felt purposeful.
With the gold he earned, Ayush paid his mother’s hospital bills, enrolled his son in one of the best schools, and finally bought his wife the sewing machine she had always dreamed of.
One day, after finishing a delivery, Ayush returned to find the golden mansion gone. The lane it once stood on was empty.
No house. No stairs. Nothing.
Confused, he sat at the spot where the gate once stood. Then he noticed a small package on the ground, addressed to him.
Inside was a note:
"To Ayush,
Luck may change, come night or day,
But hard work never fades away.
—Maya"
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