It was September 2nd, 2019—Vinayagar Chaturthi, the day of prayers. After school, Amma picked me up, and we went straight to the temple. The smell of sandalwood and incense filled the air, the chants echoing in my heart.
I closed my eyes in front of the deity and whispered silently, "God, please make him the one for me. If this love is real, I leave it in Your hands."
When I returned home, I went to look for my phone. It wasn't where I usually kept it. My chest tightened. I searched under my books, my pillow, even in my school bag. Nothing.
I glanced at Amma, who was washing dishes in the kitchen. My throat went dry. Did she... did she find out?
I forced myself to ask, "Mom... where's my phone?"
She didn't even look up. "Why do you need phone now?"
Her tone wasn't casual. It was sharp, questioning.
Panic rushed through me, but I played safe. "Trial exams are coming. My friends said teachers might send tips."
She wiped her hands on her saree and turned to me. "It's okay. Use my phone if you need. No need for yours."
Her phone. Her rules. Her password. Her control.
I knew then—something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Appa changed his phone password too. The Wi-Fi disappeared. No calls, no messages, no network. The world I built with him collapsed overnight.
I wanted to scream. How could I live without talking to him? He was my oxygen, and they cut it off.
The next morning, I rushed to school, heart pounding. I ran straight to the public phone, the one hidden near the office. I dialed his number from memory, praying it would connect.
"Hello?" His voice—familiar, comforting.
I broke down. "They took my phone. Amma knows something. Please... be careful."
"I understand," he said firmly, though I could hear worry in his tone. "Don't panic. We'll get through this."
For a week, we survived with stolen minutes, whispered calls from the school phone, my hands shaking each time.
But I knew this was just the beginning of the storm.
And I was right.