Chapter 1: The Prank and the Alarm

The old wall clock ticked loudly as I passed my phone, its back cover sticky with last week’s samosa oil, to Ravi. He grinned like he’d just won a free period, whispering, "Bas ek call karna hai, yaar." I didn’t think twice, already distracted by the smell of chalk dust and the distant clang of the peon’s bell.

Moments later, as Sir’s voice droned on about integration, my phone’s wallpaper—Virat Kohli hoisting the World Cup—flashed for a second before the alarm blared through the silent classroom. My heart jumped straight into my mouth. In our school, phones are almost as forbidden as cheating in exams. Heads whipped toward me; some boys sniggered, others looked worried. I tried to catch Ravi’s eye, but he was busy stifling a laugh, palm clamped over his mouth like he’d just seen a viral meme.

Sir’s glare could have melted steel. He stormed over, snatched my phone, and declared, “Mobile le aate ho class mein? Bahar niklo!” I wanted to vanish into my bench. Ravi still had the nerve to lean over and whisper, “Happy April Fool’s Day.”

My face burned. Even the peon outside the door peeked in, sensing drama. Ravi’s words sounded casual, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. He whispered so only I could hear, “Arrey, kya mast prank tha na? Don’t feel bad, yaar!” The boys around us giggled, and someone muttered, “Bindaas, what a chaprasi!” For a split second, I wanted to smack him with my notebook, but I was too anxious to even react.

But I told him anxiously, “Your mother was in a car accident.”

The words stuck in my throat, nearly choking me. My hands trembled so badly I nearly dropped my pen. “Arey, sun na, your mother met with an accident. I’m not kidding!”

His mother really had been in a car accident. When I turned off the alarm, I saw a WhatsApp message from his family.

It felt as if time paused, the air thick with unsaid prayers. My palms were sweaty as I remembered that notification—bold letters, trembling hands. I could still see his mother’s name on the screen, her WhatsApp DP in a red saree from last year’s Ganpati visarjan. That message was real, too real.

After hearing this, he just burst out laughing and said, “Arrey yaar, stop joking.”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes, as if I’d tried to sell him a lottery ticket. “Abey, don’t try to one-up me. April Fool’s hai, I know!” His voice was full of disbelief, but I could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes, quickly masked by bravado.

I was desperate. I wasn’t making an April Fool’s joke.

I grabbed the edge of his desk, knuckles white, voice trembling. “Bhai, listen, I swear on my mother, I’m not joking.” I wanted to just shake him, make him see sense. The class was getting noisy, everyone thinking this was all just more drama.

Normally, my phone is on silent during class, so I never get message notifications. But just now, because the alarm went off, I hurriedly unlocked the phone to turn it off. That’s when I saw that his father had made several missed calls and sent a text, saying his mother was in a car accident and he should rush home.

I remembered the phone vibrating, buzzing in my sweaty palm. Baba’s message, three missed calls. The text was in Hindi, urgent, pleading. I’d felt a chill run through me despite the stifling afternoon heat. The ceiling fan barely moved the humid air, but my head was spinning with worry.

I was reading the message when the teacher confiscated my phone and stormed off, furious.

I couldn’t even finish reading, my mind racing faster than the words on the screen. The teacher’s thick footsteps echoed as he snatched the phone and walked off, muttering under his breath. I tried to say something, but my throat felt glued shut.