Night had wrapped Vishrampur in quiet darkness, broken only by the steady glow of white and orange street lamps throwing uneven pools of light on the cracked lanes.
The usual night sounds played softly: a distant dog barking, low murmurs of late conversations, the occasional hum of a passing scooter. But within Sai's small home, a different heaviness weighed in the still air.
Sai sat by the window, bathed in the pale light from his phone. Starcode AI's screen held steady, displaying familiar star charts and predictions, calm and orderly, like any astrology app. For hours, there had been no new messages. No hints or warnings.
The last notification haunted him:
"Watch the unexpected. The shift is huge. Trust your senses."
Sai's breath caught as the moment arrived.
A call from his mother broke the silence. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "Sai, your father is home. Things at his office, they've cut his salary. It's a big reduction."
Sai's heart dropped. The man who had worked tirelessly, carefully, now punished, destabilized.
"He said it feels like a sudden storm," his mother added softly. "He's scared, Sai… not just for the money, but for what this could mean next."
Sai swallowed hard, struggling to steady his voice. "I'll be right there."
His mother's lingering worry echoed inside him. The app's cryptic warning wasn't just words. The shift was here and vast, crashing through his family's quiet life.
Outside, the street lights flickered as the cool night breeze swept through empty lanes. The temple bells tolled once, solemn and distant.
Sai's phone buzzed again, this time no new alert—just the glowing calm of the app waiting silently in the dark.
He stared into that stillness, heart pounding with a mix of fear and resolve.
The unexpected had arrived.
Sai slipped the phone into his pocket and rose from the cot, the familiar creak echoing in the heavy silence. For a few moments he stood motionless, listening to the muted hum of the night outside and the soft, low voices drifting from the next room–his mother and father speaking in urgent, hushed tones. He'd never heard his father sound so fragile, the man's steady presence now dulled by shock and defeat.
Moving quietly, Sai stepped into the hallway. His mother glanced up, worry lines deepening on her face. "He's just been sitting there for the past half hour," she whispered. "Barely touched his dinner." Her voice caught. "If only we could've seen this coming…"
Sai nodded, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder before taking a steadying breath and entering the living room.
His father sat hunched over at the table, the light from a half-working CFL bulb casting sharp shadows around him. He stared at a stack of government files, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Sai took in the scene–the untouched bowl of dal, a cooling stack of rotis, the resignation pressed into his father's posture.
"Baba," Sai said softly.
His father looked up, eyes red-rimmed but dry. "I thought if I worked honestly, nothing like this would happen. But they said the missing file was my responsibility. Now there's talk it could cost me my post." His voice broke for the first time in years. "Our family… all of you… I don't know what will happen next."
Sai knelt beside him. "We'll get through this, together. I can also try to get some part-time job online." He tried to sound certain, remembering Meena simple advice: eyes open, head clear. Yet inside, doubt twisted.
A knock came, quick and urgent, at their door.
Sai's mother opened it to find Veer, slightly out of breath but unwavering. He nodded at Sai's mother, greeting her with quiet respect.
"Hello Aunty," he said, voice softer than usual.
Sai came to the door to check who it was, and upon seeing Veer, he visibly relaxed.
Veer took one look at Sai and understood. "I came by… just to check if you needed anything," he said to Sai: "Let's step outside a moment?"
Sai followed him to the small front porch, the cool air sharp against his skin. Under the orange circle of a tired streetlamp, they stood side by side, barely speaking at first.
After a long moment, Veer broke the silence. "I heard from my father. News spreads fast here… They're making it look official."
Sai nodded, jaw clenched. He could still feel the chill of Starcode AI's warning lingering in his mind.
Veer's eyes flashed, searching Sai's face. "What happened? You're thinking about that app, aren't you?"
Sai hesitated, then said in a low voice, "It warned me tonight. Said the shift would be huge. But now everything feels out of my hands."
Veer shrugged, his fidgety energy replaced by calm frustration. "You're not alone in this, Sai. We don't let numbers on a screen or people at some office just, you know, decide who we are."
"You're right… but…"
"No ifs and buts, please. Just be with your father for now. We'll think about this stupid app later, okay?" Veer cut him off.
"You're right."
Sai allowed himself a slow, grateful exhale.
Together, they watched the silent street, the patchwork of light and dark stretching into the night. In the distance, the clamor of a motorcycle faded as it sped toward the heart of town; somewhere a window banged shut, wind carrying distant smells of cooling bread and incense.
They spoke little after. But the quiet reassurance of a friend, the living, breathing reality of their bond, reminded Sai that not every ripple came from unseen stars or glowing phones.
As midnight crept on, Sai slipped back inside. His father was finally asleep, his mother moving quietly as she cleared away their untouched dinners. Sai's phone, screen dark, rested silently on the edge of the table.
A fragile stillness hung through the house, worry, exhaustion, and the silent question of what tomorrow might bring.
Sai lay back on his cot, the faint orange spill of streetlight casting strange, thorny shadows through the cracked window. Sleep drifted close, restless and uneasy.
Just as his eyelids sank shut, a whisper of white light crossed his face. The phone screen was aglow once more. Sai rolled over and lifted it in the half-darkness.
A new notification appeared, chilling in its precision. No general warning this time–no horoscope platitudes or coded hints.
"Sai, not everything that's lost is gone forever. Decisions are coming. We're watching with you."
For a long moment, he lay frozen, staring at the screen. His own name. No more "user," no more "welcome." The words pressed close, too close.
The air in the room felt thinner. Somewhere a dog barked, distant and shrill.
Sai set the phone down, his heartbeat stuttering, the line between technology and fate suddenly thinner than he'd ever imagined.