Sai and Veer mimicked Mrs. Mishra's resolute step. With a mix of frustration and resolve, they switched off their phones. Then, wishing good luck to Mrs. Mishra, they left the tea stall.
The walk back was heavy with unspoken thoughts, their steps slower, weighed down by uncertainty.
Back at home, Sai drifted silently into his room, the phone dark and untouched on the bedside table. His mind churned, wrestling with doubt.
Was ignoring the app truly the right choice, or merely the easiest escape? The growing tension felt like a storm gathering just beyond sight, pressing on his very nerves.
His mother's voice broke through the stillness. "Where were you all day? Why didn't you go to university?"
Sai's jaw tightened. "I didn't feel like going," he muttered, tired of the constant questioning.
She pressed further, frustration edging her words. "You're wasting your time. You can't just run from everything."
"I'm not running," Sai snapped, sharp and abrupt. "Just shut up. I'll go tomorrow. Now leave me alone."
His mother's body shook at her son's deviant remarks. In her frustration, she slammed the door shut as she left him alone.
The room was filled with silence.
Sai lay back, phone still switched off, and tried to calm the storm inside. The rest of the day passed without incident. The app was invisible, silent–like a ghost momentarily held at bay.
When he woke up, he was already feeling considerably relaxed, realising that the app was likely glitching or someone was playing a prank on him.
The next day they returned from the university together, Sai, Veer, and Rhea walking in the late afternoon sun. Sai recounted the strange events and threats from the app, his voice low and urgent. Veer added some details every now and then while Rhea listened intently.
Their conversation paused when they reached Ramkatha Marg. Mrs. Mishra's tea stall was shuttered tight, an unfamiliar sight. They looked at each other, puzzled.
Before they could say more, Ramu appeared, emerging from a nearby shop with hastened steps and a grave expression.
"Did you hear?" he said quietly, glancing toward the closed stall. "Mrs. Mishra had a terrible accident at home yesterday. Lost one of her arms. Her neighbors rushed her to the Government Hospital."
The boys fell silent, the news hitting with a dull, heavy thud. The familiar warmth of the teashop was gone. The woman who had offered them comfort, who had stood torn between fear and loyalty, was now struggling with wounds physical and unseen.
Veer shook his head softly, voice low. "This isn't just about an app anymore."
Rhea swallowed hard. "What if it's only going to get worse?"
Sai looked at the two of them and whispered with flickering eyes, "if you guys are up to bunk the afternoon classes, can we visit the government hospital? I really need to get to the bottom of this or I wouldn't be able to sleep."
…
The Government Hospital of Vishrampur, a utilitarian building with faded signs and long hallways, was the center of uneasy activity that afternoon. Sai, Veer, and Rhea arrived just as the sun began to dip low, casting long shadows over the worn pavement outside.
They stood hesitantly by the main entrance, the bustling sounds of patients, visitors, and hospital workers filling the air. The scent of antiseptic mixed faintly with the dusty town breeze. Sai's heart pounded, his worry for Mrs. Mishra mounting with every step closer.
Inside, the hospital bustled with a grim, efficient energy. Corridors echoed with hurried footsteps and distant monitors kept steady rhythm. They asked around for Mrs. Mishra. An attendant's face softened with recognition when he heard her name.
"Mrs. Mishra? Yes, she was brought here yesterday after an accident. Lost part of her arm. She is currently in the emergency ward," he answered, ushering them toward the nurses' station.
In the emergency section, Mrs. Mishra lay on a dim hospital bed, separated by a thin curtain from the other beds. Her face was pale, eyes closed, the bandage wrapped around one arm stark against her worn sari. Machines beeped steadily beside her.
Sai's throat tightened. He stepped forward, careful not to rush, and gently took her other hand in his.
She stirred weakly and opened her eyes, recognition flickering behind the pain. A faint, grateful smile curved her lips as she squeezed his hand.
Rhea and Veer stood nearby, watching silently, the weight of the moment settling over them.
"We came as soon as we could," Sai said softly. "Everyone's worried. You're strong, Aunty. You'll get through this."
Mrs. Mishra's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Thank you, beta," she whispered. "I'm sorry--for what… happened. For the fear. For everything."
Sai shook his head. "Don't apologize. We're in this together now. Now can you tell us what happened? What did you feel when the app told you to throw tea on me?"
Mrs. Mishra exhaled slowly, eyes heavy but steady. "It was in the morning when I received the notification–'Throw a cup of tea on Sai Malhotra. Warn him.'"
She looked down for a moment, then continued in a low voice. "Then I got the fatal injury notification that I showed you two. After we switched off our phones,I was on my way home, crossing the main road near the market. The message was stuck in my mind–like an echo I couldn't shake. I was distracted, nervous, and the streets felt busier than usual."
Her hand rested weakly on the blanket. "As I crossed, I didn't see the truck until it was almost on me. The driver was coming fast, maybe distracted. I tried to step back, but in the panic I tripped on the curb and fell forward."
Sai's eyes widened. "You were hit?"
"Yes," she said softly. "The truck clipped my arm. It was the impact that crushed my forearm. The pain was immediate and terrible. Neighbours rushed over, and I was taken directly here."
She swallowed hard, the memory sharp and raw. "The doctors said the damage was severe. Infection and circulation loss meant they had no choice but to amputate."
Sai's voice was barely a whisper. "That... was the 'fatal injury' the message warned about."
Mrs. Mishra nodded faintly. "The app didn't have to force me. It planted fear and doubt until I was so distracted, so off balance, that the accident happened. It turned me into a target without ever touching me."
Her eyes locked with Sai's. "That message wasn't magic–it was an idea. And in that moment, it was deadly."
Veer leaned closer. "This app, it's not normal. It's not just messing with people's psyches. It's hurting people."
Mrs. Mishra nodded faintly, the lines of pain etched deeper. "It's very twisted. I wish I could just get away from its curse. I wonder what it wants from an old hag like me."
For a moment, the small group sat in fragile quiet, the hospital's ordinary sounds a pale backdrop to a battle none of them could yet see clearly.