A Call from the Dad
July 27, 2009 – 6:30 PM
Jadavpur University Canteen, Kolkata
The sun dipped below the Kolkata skyline, its golden rays slowly fading into hues of orange and violet. The streets, always alive with energy, hummed with the sounds of evening—hawkers calling out to customers, trams rattling over iron tracks, and distant strains of Rabindra Sangeet playing from an old tea stall. The city never truly slept; it merely changed its rhythm.
Aritra leaned back in his chair at the Jadavpur University canteen, stretching his arms after an exhausting day. His wooden gear model still sat inside his backpack, remnants of sawdust clinging to his sleeves. The workshop had been more demanding than expected, but the satisfaction of crafting something with his own hands was worth it.
"Another chai?" Subho asked, already signaling to the canteen boy before Aritra could answer.
"You keep drinking tea like this, you'll be mistaken for a philosopher," Rakesh teased, slurping the last of his lassi.
Subho scoffed. "Better a philosopher than a failed carpenter."
The three of them laughed, the easy camaraderie washing away the weight of the day. Around them, the canteen buzzed with life—students discussing politics, movies, cricket, and exams in loud, animated voices.
"So," Subho said, stirring his tea, "we have our thermodynamics viva tomorrow. Any volunteers to remind me what entropy is?"
"Entropy is what happens to your marks every semester," Rakesh deadpanned, making Aritra chuckle.
Aritra sipped his tea, letting the warmth settle in his chest. This was normal. This was familiar. But even as he laughed with his friends, a strange unease prickled at the back of his mind, something intangible, a whisper of instinct warning him that something was off.
As he finished his tea, he glanced outside. The evening light had deepened, the sky now a blend of indigo and amber. The streetlights flickered on, casting pools of yellow over the bustling campus. He sighed and stood up. "Alright, gentlemen, time to head home."
7:30 PM – On the Way Home
The familiar hum of the engine and the rhythmic sway of the car were almost soothing as Aritra made his way back home. The evening streets of Kolkata were drenched in neon glows—signboards flashing in Bangla and English, rickshaws weaving between lanes, families gathered at roadside eateries for their evening snacks. The air smelled of roasted peanuts, spicy rolls, and fresh jalebis.
His phone buzzed. A message from Ishita.
Ishita: The reports are in. Numbers still climbing. We'll discuss tomorrow. Enjoy your evening, boss.
Aritra smiled. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the rare moment of relaxation. His AI butler, LUMEN, would already be preparing dinner at home. He planned on having a quiet meal, maybe reviewing some designs for OmniLink's next interface update before calling it a night.
The streets of Kolkata blurred past him—vendors closing down their stalls, the rhythmic clang of a tram, the chatter of people moving through the city's veins. It was his city, his home, and tonight felt like any other night.
But the moment of peace shattered.
His AI bodyguard system, connected to the security network around his parents' house, sent a sudden alert:
"DANGER DETECTED."
Aritra sat up straight, his heart hammering. What?
Then—just as quickly as it came—the signal was lost. Disconnection.
Aritra's breath caught in his throat. That wasn't normal.
His mind raced, running through every possibility. A system glitch? A network issue? No, the system was built to be impenetrable. It had never failed before. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
Then—his phone rang.
His father's number.
He picked up instantly. "Baba? What happ—"
His father's voice was low, strained, shaken in a way Aritra had never heard before.
"Come home. Now."
Then the call ended. Silence.
For the first time in years, Aritra felt something creeping up his spine—fear.
He didn't waste a second. "Drive. Faster.Turn around and take bypass and go to Dakshin Barasat" he ordered his driver, his voice a sharp contrast to the relaxed tone he had used minutes ago. The car surged forward, cutting through traffic, the neon lights blurring past the windows. His heart pounded with every passing second.
The roads that had once felt like home now felt foreign, the vibrant cityscape now an ominous backdrop. The driver, sensing his urgency, swerved through gaps in traffic, pushing the vehicle faster than usual. The faint sounds of honking and street noise faded into the background as Aritra's mind played out every possibility. Was it a break-in? A threat? Had someone figured out who he was?
He clenched his fists. No. This wasn't just a coincidence. Someone had moved against him.
As the car sped toward his home, the streetlights flickered past like ghosts in the night. The night had started peacefully, but something had changed. The shadows had moved. And Aritra was heading straight into them.
He didn't know what he would find when he got home. But he knew one thing for certain.
His life would never be the same after tonight.