Echoes Beyond the Screen

The next morning, the lingering chill of the dream was still present—a faint echo in Raghav's mind—but it no longer paralyzed him. Instead, it fueled a new, cold resolve. He woke up feeling a purpose he hadn't known in years.

He joined his family for breakfast—a rare treat on a weekday morning. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of hot chai and freshly made parathas.

He ate happily, truly enjoying the simple meal, soaking in the warmth of their presence. The laughter of Kavya and the quiet contentment of his parents felt like a shield against the nightmares—a reason to fight.

After breakfast, the familiar goodbyes felt different. His parents, Rajesh and Sobha, prepared to return to their village, their faces glowing with quiet joy.

Kavya grumbled playfully about her pending chores, while Arun was already lost in his phone again. Raghav hugged them tighter than usual, a silent promise forming in his heart.

They left, and the apartment grew quiet once more—but this time, it wasn't an empty silence. It was a silence charged with purpose.

Raghav, with newfound focus, headed to his office. The city outside seemed less oppressive, the traffic less annoying. His mind was already at work—not on spreadsheets, but on strategies. Today, he wouldn't shy away from his power. Today, he would master it.

In the office, the drone of daily work resumed. Raghav sat at his desk, his monitor glowing with the usual array of numbers and reports.

He plunged into his tasks, but his actions were a carefully constructed cover. While his fingers typed and his mouse clicked, his mind was a storm of silent commands and intense concentration.

He began to practice again—quietly, subtly—testing the boundaries of his ability. He started small. A cell in his spreadsheet would subtly change its font size from 10pt to 10.5pt, then back again. A row would shift position by a pixel or two, then return.

He would will a file to save a millisecond faster, a document to open with an imperceptible snap. It looked like nothing more than typical computer quirks—or fast fingers.

No one noticed. Rishi, two desks away, was too busy with his own work to pay attention to such minute changes.

Days turned into a week, then another. Each day, Raghav pushed himself further. He discovered he could not only command specific actions but influence the flow of data itself.

He could make network requests prioritize his own connection, speeding up downloads without affecting others. He could mentally clean up fragmented files, boosting performance with silent commands.

He could force error messages to disappear before they fully displayed, making his old machine seem unusually stable. He even learned to subtly alter color values in an image file—shifting a dull corporate logo to a slightly more vibrant shade—with a focused burst of will.

This power wasn't just about making things happen. It was about making them happen his way. A digital extension of his own mind. He gave it a name: Threadmind.

It felt right. A web of invisible threads connecting him to the digital world—guided by thought. He was a Threadmind.

The name gave him a sense of control. Of identity. Of scientific grounding for the impossible.

He spent lunch breaks and late evenings studying—computer manuals, coding forums, physics papers he barely understood. Anything that might explain how this could work.

His knowledge grew—not just of what he could do—but how it might be possible, even if the science behind it was centuries away.

Many days passed in quiet, intense training. He learned to encrypt and decrypt files instantly, bypassing software with raw mental force.

He could alter parameters in simulations run by the office servers—nudging them ever so slightly just to see if he could. His computer was no longer just a machine. It was part of him.

Then came Thursday evening.

Raghav had stayed late, lost in experiments. The office was quiet—just a few others scattered among the cubicles. He had just bypassed a new firewall the IT team installed that morning.

Victory pulsed through him. He packed his bag, humming softly, and walked toward the elevator.

Halfway there, he froze. He had forgotten to log out. His machine was still on. He turned, scanning the room. A few late-stayers remained, heads down.

Security cameras? One at the reception. Another at the main door. None pointed directly at his desk. He was probably safe.

He stood still, maybe twenty feet from his workstation. Breathe. Focus. He reached inward, into Threadmind. Log out. The thought was sharp, desperate, loaded with intent.

Then it happened.

A ripple—almost visible—passed through the entire office. Not just his computer. Every monitor in view—Rishi's, accounting's, even the intern's by the window—went dark simultaneously. Each screen displayed the login prompt. Every machine had logged out.

The silence that followed was eerie. Chairs creaked. Murmurs began.

"What just happened?" "Did the server crash?" "Mine too…" Shrugs. "Must be a glitch."

People rebooted their computers; they didn't think much about it as it happened to every computer. Then they went back to work.

But for Raghav, it was something else. He stood frozen, blood roaring in his ears. He hadn't just triggered his machine. He had triggered the entire office. His power had reached all of them. His Threadmind wasn't bound to one device. It was a force capable of rippling through the entire network.

He couldn't stay. Didn't wait to restart. Didn't explain. He turned and left—fast. Faces blurred around him as he hurried outside.

How? How did that happen? Did I really do that?

The city lights swam before him. A world once mundane now brimmed with dangerous possibilities. He needed answers. Urgently. And above all—he needed to know if he was still in control.