It happened on a Tuesday afternoon in June, when the heat in Puri rises off the road in shimmering waves. Aarav and Dadu had stopped at Ramesh Bhai's sweet shop for a cold lassi. The shop had a new air conditioner that turned the inside into a cave of cold air.

Then they stepped outside.

Aarav's glasses fogged up instantly. The world vanished — market stalls, rickshaws, the temple spire — replaced by a warm white blur. He stopped walking, completely blind.

"Dadu, I can't see!"

Dadu chuckled and plucked the glasses off his face. He wiped them on the hem of his cotton lungi with two slow, careful strokes and handed them back. The world returned: sharp, bright, dripping with colour.

"See?" said Dadu, steering him around a puddle. "The road didn't change. The stalls didn't move. The temple didn't fall down. Everything was exactly where it was. Only your seeing changed."

"It's just condensation," Aarav said. "Warm humid air hits the cold lenses and —"

"Yes, yes, science boy." Dadu waved his hand. "But listen. Desire does the same thing. When you want something badly — really badly — it fogs up your mind. You can't see what's real. You only see the thing you want, and everything else goes blurry."

They walked past the fish stall. The smell hit them — brine and silver scales and the iron scent of the sea.

"Sometimes the fog is light," Dadu continued. "Like smoke over a fire — you blow it away and the flame is right there. That's when you want an extra gulab jamun after dinner. A small want. Easy to clear."

He held up a second finger. "Sometimes the fog is heavier. Like dust on a mirror — you have to sit down and scrub. That's when you want something that isn't yours, or when you're jealous of someone who has what you don't."

He held up a third finger and his voice grew quieter. "And sometimes the fog is so thick you don't even know it's there. Like a baby inside its mother — it cannot see the world at all, and it doesn't even know that it's wrapped up. That's the most dangerous kind. That's when desire has been sitting in your heart so long that you think it IS your heart."

Aarav cleaned his glasses again, though they didn't need it. He thought about the cricket bat he'd been wanting for three months — the one in the sports shop window with the blue grip. Some mornings, it was the first thing in his mind before he even opened his eyes. Was that smoke, dust, or something deeper?

"How do you know which kind it is?" he asked.

Dadu smiled. "That question, right there — that's the wipe."