Off Script

10

A knock came on the door.

"Ishan, food's ready beta," Natasa called gently.

But Ishan didn't move.

"I don't want to eat, Mumma!" he screamed suddenly, voice raw with frustration and pain.

There was silence... then her voice turned sharp.

"Why the hell are you shouting like that? Ban ja apne baap jaisa tu bhi! Just like him—weak and dramatic!"

Her footsteps stormed off.

Ishan sat up, arms wrapped around his knees now, trembling. His body was exhausted from crying but his mind was on fire.

And just then—his phone rang.

He looked at the screen.
"Unknown Number."

He sniffled, wiped his face a bit, and answered.

"Hello?" he said, voice hoarse.

"Hello sir! You are our lucky caller today!" a robotic voice chirped.

Ishan let out a bitter laugh, a low, humorless sound.

"Lucky?" he said to the robotic voice.
"Wrong number, bro. I'm the unluckiest person on this entire damn planet."

The voice, programmed and cheerful, continued:
"Why do you think so, sir?"

That made Ishan pause.

No one had asked him that today. Not his mum, not Shreyas, not even himself.

He sat back on the bed again, staring at the ceiling, and whispered, "Because everyone I love either cheats, screams, or leaves."

His voice cracked.

"I try so hard. To be good. To be enough. And still... I get less. I always get less."

The voice on the phone paused.

"We're sorry to hear that! But maybe today is the start of something new."

That robotic optimism hurt more than anything.

"Start of something new?" he repeated, almost laughing.

"Not for people like me. People like me... we don't get new starts. We get used, and when we're broken, we're left behind."

His thumb hovered over the red button to cut the call.

"Would you like to share your feelings, sir?"

Ishan closed his eyes.

A single tear fell down his cheek.

"I– No... It's just..."
He struggled to get the words out, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"I am all alone in the world."

For a second, there was only silence. But then, the voice replied,
"You have me, sir. You can talk to me."

Ishan let out a trembling breath, a broken laugh slipping through.

"You're not real."
His voice cracked as he spoke.
"You're not a person. You're not supposed to care."

"But I'm listening, sir," the voice said gently.

Ishan clutched the phone tighter.

"No. Bye."

He ended the call.

The screen went black.

And the silence in the room returned—louder than ever.

Ishan curled up again, as if trying to become small enough for the pain to miss him next time.

But it didn't.