Chapter 4: A New Beginning

The next day, my alarm went off at 8:30. I tossed off the covers—then remembered I didn’t have to go to work anymore.

For a second, I just lay there, the ceiling fan whirring above, sunlight leaking through the old curtains.

A distant pressure cooker whistle from the neighbour’s kitchen made me realise it was really just another weekday.

The city outside was alive, but for once, I had nowhere to be. It felt strange.

My phone buzzed with a new email.

I almost ignored it, but habit made me check. It wasn’t a spam offer for cheap loans or another Zomato deal.

When I opened it, I was instantly wide awake.

My heart skipped like it used to before exam results—equal parts hope and dread.

"Hi, I’m Dr. Kabir Prasad, CEO of Medivista Technologies. My team and I saw on Github that you’ve been working on applying AI to Alzheimer’s detection for the past few years, which matches exactly what we’re doing. We sincerely invite you to join us, and look forward to your reply."

For a moment, I thought it was some scam. But the tone was too professional, too specific.

Alzheimer’s is basically dementia.

Back home, neighbours called it "buddhi bhoolna ki bimari." I’d always been fascinated by how tech could help people suffering in silence.

I’d uploaded a few projects to Github just out of personal interest.

My friends used to joke: "Why are you doing all this open-source work? You’re not going to become a Silicon Valley star, yaar." But I did it anyway.

What the hell?

It was almost like a miracle—first day without a job, and this lands in my lap. Was it some karmic reward for all those sleepless nights?

First day unemployed, hadn’t even started sending out resumes, and an offer just falls into my lap?

I pinched myself. Was this for real? Or did I hit the jackpot by accident?

I googled Medivista Technologies and the CEO.

Their homepage loaded faster than my old office Wi-Fi, which was already a good sign.

Their website was minimalist, but the content was solid. No fancy jargon, just results. I liked that.

Not much on the company, but the CEO was impressive: Dr. Kabir Prasad, PhD from IISc, specialised in computer vision.

Now that’s pedigree. Even my cousin, who’s obsessed with toppers, would be impressed. IISc, yaar!

His personal homepage was loaded with open-source projects he’d built solo in college.

His code samples were crisp, well-commented, with a bit of humour. For a techie, that’s like finding a masala dosa with the perfect chutney.

With my professional eye, I could tell—this guy was the real deal.

He wasn’t just another MBA in fancy shoes. He actually knew his stuff.

I never expected someone like him to notice my Github projects. I’ll admit, I was a little flattered.

For a second, I puffed up with pride—maybe all those side projects weren’t useless after all.

But since I didn’t know much about their company, I couldn’t just say yes.

My father always said, "Beta, pehle jaanch lein, phir haan bolna." So I decided to play it safe.

I replied that I was happy to talk further and included my phone number.

Kept it formal, but with a little enthusiasm—didn’t want to seem too desperate.

The moment I hit send, Sneha messaged me on WhatsApp.

Bhaiya, she was as fast as ever—always knew the office gossip before anyone else.

"Bhaiya, a new guy joined today. Old Rajiv says he’ll be maintaining our project. Guess what? He’s a fresh college grad."

I pictured a skinny kid with oversized glasses, nervously clutching his lunch tiffin. Poor guy, he had no idea what he was in for.

"Everyone knows freshers are the cheapest. Tch tch, they kick you out and swap in the bargain bin—what a bunch of idiots."

Sneha never pulled her punches. I chuckled—her frustration was more comforting than sympathy.

I laughed.

For the first time since yesterday, I felt a genuine grin. Maybe karma would handle Rajiv Sharma after all.

Is Rajiv Sharma serious?

Somewhere in the city, Rajiv was probably boasting about his "resource optimisation" to anyone who’d listen.

This is still an important business for the company. You really think a rookie can keep it running?

Even the office chaiwala could tell you this wouldn’t end well.

Is he stupid, or does he just have blind faith in my code?

Or maybe he was just too arrogant to admit he was making a huge mistake. Typical.

Whatever. Not my circus anymore.

Bas, ho gaya. Let them deal with their own mess now.

Because the CEO called. My heart thudded. This was a new beginning, maybe.

But in the back of my mind, I wondered—would this time be any different?