The Other Reality

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask,” Rishit spoke from the bathroom. He gargled, spat, and stepped out to find his wife sitting on the bed, applying moisturizer. “Did Ani say anything to you about virtual reality goggles?”

“VR goggles?” his wife Niti, said without raising her eyes, “Nothing, why?”

Rishit dabbed his chin with a napkin and said, “Yesterday, he told me that he needs those for school.”

“For school?” Niti squeezed a handful of white cream on her hand and began rubbing it on her thigh, “I didn’t talk to him yesterday. Not even today. He was sleeping when I left, and you know how hectic it gets when projects are in their last phases. Maybe this whole week will be the same. Leaving early, coming late. And on top of that,” she shook her head, “This new boss.”

“Hey, don’t worry, you will survive her. You have had worse bosses. Remember that crazy nails guy?”

Niti chuckled, and got lost in some old memory, “Yeah, that was mad,” she arched her eyebrows.

Rishit sat next to her. “What do you think about those goggles? Should we get those?”

“They need them for what exactly?”

“Ani said that his school is implementing some new method of teaching. Online or virtual lectures. They won’t be having school every day now. I guess something like fifty percent in-person and fifty percent online.” He slid a pillow behind his back and sat reclining on the wall.

“So, he will be home all the time now? Who will look after him?”

“These new methods, online and all is so-“

“Oh yes,” Niti exclaimed, “I remember, I know. Some chat was going on that day in the school group. We missed the parents’ meeting, so we don’t know exactly. It was last week. In the group, they were talking something about virtual classes.”

Rishit waited a moment, but when Niti didn’t add anything more, he frowned, “And? What were they talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Niti kept the pink bottle on the side table, “I mean I didn’t read the whole thing. I was in a meeting. But I gathered that these goggles are almost like you’re sitting in the class. You can see the teacher in front of you, and also all your classmates. You can raise your hand if you want to ask something. Teachers can literally come and stand nearby and keep an eye on what the student is doing. It’s not like the online classes we had. These are virtual classes. It is like actual presence in the classroom without being there.”

“Yeah, yeah, Ani told me the same, but,” he scratched his head, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do they need to do that? What’s wrong with traditional classes? I mean if it is all the same, then why?”

Niti lay on the bed and covered herself with the blanket, “It’s the new way.”

“Yeah, but why? What’s wrong with the old one?”

“That it is old,” Niti smiled, “You are worried about getting him goggles, and I am worried we are going to need a full-time babysitter now. You know how difficult that is?”

Rishit, lost in some thought, squinted at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he said and paused, “Kids should go and meet outside. Play every day. See with their own eyes.”

“He will go to school every other day.”

“Yeah, but,” Rishit moved and adjusted his position. “He is only ten. It is his age to socialize and play-”

“This is worrying you because it is just different from how we grew up. Remember, our parents didn’t have portable phones that fit in their pockets to be carried around anywhere. They sent letters, and we video-called. We exchanged notes through the internet, connected through social media, and now our kids have virtual reality.”

“But you know what it did to us. It cursed our entire generation.”

“Exactly, that was a generational curse. Our generational curse, and maybe this virtual reality is his. He has to be a part of it. Or he will be left out.”

“Left out of depression? Fine by me.”

Niti rolled her eyes in a jovial manner. “Let’s say you don’t give him goggles, then what? This school won’t allow him. Then we’ll have to change it. But the new school might also implement the same method in a couple of months. Everyone is doing it with AI and all. Even the corporates are no exception. It’s the efficient way.”

Rishit shrugged, “We can homeschool him.”

“Homeschool him? So, to prevent him from staying at home on some days, you will make him sit at home all the days?”

“I just don’t like the idea of virtual reality.”

“And who will homeschool him? It’s a full-time job. Who has that kind of time?”

Rishit sighed, “I don’t know.”

“Even if you homeschool him and keep him away from the VR, one day or another when he leaves this house, he is going to need it. At that time, it will become difficult for him to learn from the beginning and-”

“Okay, okay. We’ll get him the VR goggles. What other option do we have?”

Niti raised her torso to kiss her husband, then turned and slept on the other side, “And find a babysitter. Money can be arranged, but it should be a trustworthy person. I can’t just let anyone be inside the house all day long. Remember that nanny? She stole my golden necklace and-”

Words had stopped making sense to Rishit as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, reminiscing his childhood days when he was free from the bars of technology and internet.

The sun rose bright that morning. But like every morning, tiny shadows were not hopping on the curb. No bus came, and no racket or shriek was heard outside. The only bustle was of grown-ups starting the engines and leaving for work.

However, the walls of Rishit’s house were filled with squeaks and laughter. For the first time in his life, Anish was excited for the class to start. He had set an alarm on his phone, got up on his own, brushed, bathed, and breakfasted without letting anyone nag even once. He had combed his hair following his father’s orders, an action he believed to be a hundred percent redundant as he was not going to school anyway, worn uniform, a thing more redundant than combing hair, and readied himself on a desk and chair newly bought only for this occasion.

Anish sat on the chair as his skinny legs dangled below. His chest was strapped to the back of it. Strapping was cautioned in the instructions. Virtual reality was almost like reality, may it be a kid or an adult, it was natural to lose balance every now and then and do some movement fatal to themselves or others. The black VR set was clutching to his scalp, covering all of his head and half of his face. There were some pressure points around the ears, eyes, nose, and all around the head that vibrated and tricked the brain into believing and sensing things that were not there.

“Woah,” Anish yelped as his father pressed a button at the back of his head and turned on the VR set.

“Why are you so excited? We have done this thing a dozen times before.”

“This is cool, Dad,” Anish said shaking his head. Rishit made sure that the set wasn’t moved even with this movement. This was cautioned too. The set must be fitted in the right position, or it could mess up the dimensions and colors, leading to a frightening perception of things. “This is amazing,” Anish yelped once again waving his hands in the air, trying to catch something. “Dad, Dad, it’s started. I can see everyone. Woah, this is so real. I can see everyone.”

“Yes, stop dancing like a monkey now, everyone can see you. You sure the mic is off?”

Anish nodded, touching his chest and legs, trying to feel the touch his avatar was making. “Why do I have to wear the uniform?” he said, “My avatar can wear it. He is wearing it right now. I am not going there anyway.”

“He is right,” Niti said holding her coffee mug in one hand and a sandwich in another. She took a quick bite of the sandwich and stood leaning against the kitchen counter observing her husband and son hassling around the VR set in the living room. She continued, “Why are you pestering him about the uniform?”

“Because he is in school at this moment.”

“No, I’m not,” Anish chuckled.

“Keep your mic off,” Rishit pocked Anish’s stomach making him laugh. He added, “Whatever that avatar is, it is not real. You are. The school is. The voices are. And you will bathe, sit properly wearing the uniform and then only attend the school, or your virtual school. Whatever it is. Understood?”

“Yes, Dad,” Anish laughed. “But this is cool, better than the reality. I can do anything sitting right here in this spot.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Well, you eat the food in that virtual world, poop it out in our real world, and then I will believe you.”

“Give it a few years,” Niti said gulping the last chunk of the sandwich down with coffee and hurrying to work. “Have fun and be nice,” she hurled a kiss at both of them and rushed outside.

Rishit stood next to his son, observing him with a smile as he clutched his pen and said something to no one before him. Everything seemed okay. He checked his watch and grasped that he was late. He stretched his hand to pat his son but refrained fathoming that he was somewhere else and might gasp with the sudden touch. He stood there for another minute observing his son, then once again checked the watch and left the house.

Anish poked the plump back of the avatar of the boy sitting before him. “They are gone,” he whispered.

The avatar, his friend, turned slightly to look back as an impish grip parted his lips. “Superb,” he whispered back, “Now follow me.”

“With pleasure.”

Anish was still sitting in his virtual classroom, with his teacher standing before him, writing something on the board, and the same friend sitting before him. Anish had tuned off his mic, so his avatar wasn’t making any sound or moving its lips when he spoke. But his speaker was on. In case the teacher called him. The friend kept texting him step-by-step procedure on the phone, which was linked to his VR set, and Anish kept following it meticulously.

“This is the last step, and then we are done,” the friend texted. Then his avatar looked back at Anish and winked. “Click the third option,” he whispered, “Humanize me.”

Anish tapped on the virtual screen before him. For a fraction of a second, everything went white and then the goggles flashed a new screen before him. The entire screen was blank, with three dots at the upper right corner and a block at the upper left corner. Anish clicked on the block and the classroom maximized. But this time, something felt weird. Anish’s avatar was writing something in his notebook, but Anish wasn’t writing anything.

The friend let out a whistle, “We are hacked out baby.”

“The hell we are,” Anish cheered back. No one was able to hear them this time.

“Doesn’t he look a bit aggressive and withdrawn to you?” Rishit said turning down the volume of their TV. The light was dim and the screen kept flashing colorful lights on them.

“How can he be both aggressive and withdrawn? Can’t you see the contrast?” Niti said.

“You can’t spot anything off in him?” he turned to face her, “Nothing at all?”

Niti sighed. “You are turning me off with this constant worrying.”

Rishit rested his head on the back of the couch, “I don’t know. I can’t tell exactly what, but I can feel something is wrong with him.”

“He is a kid. Kids are like that. They get upset over the smallest of things. Sometimes, some friend didn’t walk with him, sometimes he forgot his homework,” she shrugged, “We should let him process these things on his own. The world is brutal. It’s better to not be his crutches.”

Rishit shook his head, “This has started happening because of that VR, I know.”

“Again the VR? Seriously, Rishi, we have talked about it so many times. His attendance has improved because of VR. You met his teachers-”

“Virtually.”

Niti massaged her temples. “Then go and meet them personally. You have loads of free time, make some proper utilization of it instead of creating problems where there are none.” She got up and strode toward their bedroom.

“Dude,” Anish said looking at the sparkling collection of apps stretched before him. The same block was still pinned on the upper left corner. “These are the paid ones.”

“Naah,” the friend’s voice rang in the earphones, “Not all. Some need us to be above eighteen.”

“That’s sick. I wish I was older. All the good games are in that category.” Anish paused, “Can you not hack those?”

“Dude, their system is strong, not shitty like our school’s. The guidelines are strict, and they have retina scanners and all. It’s difficult. But if you really want to play something like that, look for the least played games. They need people, so their guidelines slack.” He paused but added before Anish could have said something, “Check if any of your parents is logged into their email account from your device.”

‘CAUTION.’ Anish read the message displayed before him. ‘All the information and details of your bank account are safe with us. Although it will be used as leverage to make you surpass all the levels efficiently. Remember, this is not a game, but a tested method of understanding the personal and social responsibilities, feeling and coping with the relations or connections you have never had in real life, recognizing your purpose, simulating a life before actually living it, and most of all, finding success and eternal peace.’ The screen blackened for a moment, then blipped and popped a new message. ‘ALL THE BEST.’ The screen blipped again displaying another message: LET’S BEGIN.

The piercing light dimmed slowly and an image began materializing before Anish. He gathered that he was standing before a mirror inside a bathroom. A luxurious bathroom. It had yellow lights, big shiny mirrors, and a sweet-citric smell. He blinked and craned his neck toward the mirror. The reflection belonged to him, that he could tell, only it looked a bit older. His eye range was elevated from the ground, his hair was longer, and his palms and feet were bigger. He took a deep breath and saw his massive chest expand. He moved and felt his body. He waved his fingers, stretched his back, and bent his knees. The feel of himself was better than sitting strapped in that virtual school. The detailing was vivid, and all the senses were sharp. In his virtual school, he was not able to smell or feel the touch, but in the game he was. He slid his hand on the edge of the basin and felt the cold hard stone. A chill ran down his spine. For a moment, it had become almost impossible to tell which was reality, and which was not.

The avatar in the mirror belonged to Anish, only its name was Rishit. He had logged in through his father’s profile. In the game, he had chosen the age of eighteen as the starting point, and from there he was going to grow up. He was going to make his own decisions, follow through, and see where life led him. He was going to warm up before the actual match began. In other words, he was going to get the feel of a grown-up man without actually growing up.

Anish turned and opened the door that led him into a bedroom. This room was twice the size of his real bedroom. The ceiling was high, the navy-blue furniture was lavish, the bed was fluffy, and the morning light coming in through long windows illuminated the room highlighting its plush features. With a grin cracked from ear to ear, he rubbed his hands, ran toward the bed, and jumped in it.

In the game, he had chosen a richer household. He had chosen a father who owned a franchise of game shops, and a mother, who at first was a housewife, but then became the same workaholic latecomer that she was. He wanted his mother near but wasn’t confident about tolerating her the entire day. Then day after day.

Anish’s new virtual game life began. In the beginning, the screen time was a minimum of two hours a day. Here he could not humanize the avatar. He had to say and do things for the avatar to be functional. This was what made the game feel real. He could fast-forward the idle situations, or skip the sleep time. But if the avatar slept late, the next morning, the pounding was felt in real Anish’s head.

The virtual life was fun and easy since nothing mattered. It was a game. He had plenty of money to spend, people to order things around, and friends just to do things he could never have done in real life. He doubled his screen time. Months and years passed in two weeks, pushing Anish’s gaming avatar in junior college. He had never been a bright student in his life, and being a ten-year-old kid, even in the game he couldn’t pass those college-level quizzes. So, Anish cheated. It was a game anyway. He made new friends there, bunked classes, drank, and smoked, and got high in such an unbelievably real way that the real-life Anish spent many mornings pinned to bed, whining over a hangover. He even made a girlfriend. It was his first-ever girlfriend. And one afternoon, while they were lying in her bed talking and laughing over silly things, she slid her warm hand inside his pants. He felt a sensation that made thousands of fireworks explode in his brain. He yearned for that sensation again and again, even something more, but when the girl refused, he went searching for others. He made plenty of girlfriends in this period. Sometimes, multiple at the same time. He broke up, made up, and again broke up. Because nothing mattered. It was a game anyway.

After finishing junior college, he got into an undergraduate college. His screen time tripled. Cheating couldn’t get him through this time. His ten-year-old self wasn’t that smart, and things had started to repeat. He had bought enough clothes and games, wasted enough nights getting high, and made more girlfriends than he could’ve handled. He did everything with such an extravagant intensity in such an extravagantly little amount of time that soon it started feeling like all the fun had seeped out of his life leaving everything dry. The same friends called him, again and again, to get high, the same girls came again and again to stretch the same fights, and the same arguments with parents fired in every conversation. He was nauseated. He needed to get away from all that. He was done with the game.

One morning, the real-life Anish got up early, got ready, sat at his desk, and attended all of the virtual lectures. Throughout, he kept the ‘Humanize Me’ option off. Early afternoon, when he was done with school, he went to his friend’s house. From there, they called their other friends asking them to come. They gathered, talked, and laughed, keeping their screens off as long as possible. They went out and played for some time as their skins soaked the orange sunlight and gleamed in sweat. Anish came home, ate an early dinner with his parents, talked to them freely after a long time, and went to his room.

As he opened the door, the first thing his eyes noticed was the VR set. He felt a strong aversion, yet walked toward it. He had come there with a resolution. He felt the set in his hands, and slowly, wore it on his head. With a deep breath, he sat on the chair, turned it on, and logged into the gaming account. He went into the settings and searched for the ‘quit’ option. It was not there. He went into all other options, including display, sound, connectivity, and privacy, but couldn’t find it anywhere. The system’s software was complex with hundreds of options to manage the experience, but there was nothing related to leaving it. It didn’t matter. He was going to leave the game. It didn’t matter whether he officially left the game. If he deleted the game and didn’t log in again, the problem was solved. He came back to the main screen and tapped on the icon of the app. Five options popped below it. He chose the ‘Uninstall’ and pointed at it. For a moment, nothing happened, then with a blip, the screen went black and displayed a message written in white.

’YOU CANNOT QUIT THE GAME.’

Anish frowned. There were two tabs below this message. One was green with ‘BACK’ written on it, and the other was red with ‘NEXT’ written on it. He clicked on the red one. Another message popped: YOU HAVE SET YOUR DYING AGE AS 80. YOU HAVE TO LIVE UP TO THAT AGE TO DIE AND QUIT THE GAME.

Once again there were two tabs below and once again Anish clicked on the red one.

‘WE CANNOT LET YOU BE A QUITTER. IF YOU PRESS ‘NEXT’, AN AMOUNT WILL BE DEDUCTED FROM YOUR BANK ACCOUNT WITHIN 24 HOURS, AND KEEP DEDUCING EVERY DAY AS A CONSEQUENCE.’

Anish clicked on the red tab. The game was bluffing. Any bank or platform needs a password to transact money. Anish knew that much. And he had never given any password to it. He pressed the button at the back of the VR set, loosened it, and took it off. He ran his cold hands on his face, took a wet napkin, kept it on his eyes, and slept like a log the entire night. He had not slept like that in weeks.

He had slept so deep that he missed his alarm and didn’t wake up for school. Rishit and Niti had left in a hurry, assuming Anish to have managed on his own. But nothing woke him up till the early afternoon when his phone began vibrating and ringing under his neck. He rubbed his eyes, groped for the phone, and saw that it was his father calling. He glanced at the clock. It was twelve past ten in the afternoon. It was recess time, and he had missed school.

“Dad,” Anish said suppressing a yaw, “Yeah.”

“Ani,” Rishit said, “What is it today? Virtual school or real school?”

“Umm..”

“I meant, I just don’t want to interrupt anything,” Rishit said thinking, “Today is Wednesday, so real school time?” then there was a sudden, long pause, “You are not at school?”

Another pause, “Yeah, Dad, no. I mean I was not feeling well.”

“What’s happened? Are you-”

“It’s nothing much, just had to study late last night for an exam. I’m just tired.”

“Okay, okay, that’s fine,” Rishit let a couple of seconds pass, “Ani, last night, did you use my debit card for something? Did you buy something?”

“Debit card?” Anish scratched his head and then the whole scenario thundered in his head. The game was not bluffing.

“Yeah, the one I gave you for emergencies. Did you use it last night?”

“How much money is gone?” Anish noticed that his hands were trembling.

Pause. “Son, is everything okay?”

Anish felt a ball swelling in his throat and thwarting all the words from reaching his lips. No, nothing was not okay, and he didn’t know what to do. But before he could speak, his father added, “Ani, I know you are working hard. I know it’s too much for you. But we can see that you are pushing. Your attendance and marks have improved. Your mom and I are proud of you.”

Anish gulped, “Thanks Dad,” he somehow managed to keep his voice steady, “I am fine, it is nothing. And that transaction, last night, I was doing some online registration for a sports competition. The process confused me. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. It was late at night and I thought the transaction got canceled.”

Anish had never been a big liar, yet the smoothness with which the dishonesty glided out of his lips astounded him. He felt as if it were not the real him, but the virtual him was speaking.

“It’s okay, Ani, it’s okay. Don’t worry. It’s only two thousand rupees. If it’s canceled then we will get the refund, okay. Not to worry.”

Anish nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You know, tonight, let’s go somewhere out for dinner. We’ll have your favorite pizza and ice cream. Okay. Don’t worry about school. Take a good rest today. I’ll try to come home soon.”

Another ball swelled in Anish’s throat. The words were pushing themselves up from his stomach but were getting blocked all the same. “Bye Dad,” he said, “See you in the evening.”

“Bye, son.”

Anish didn’t hang up. He sat still as big beads of tears rolled down his cheeks. He heard his father talk to someone, then exclaim realizing that the call was on, then he heard him asking if Anish was still there, and finally hung up when no reply came.

The game continued.

Anish dropped out of college in his first year. Even with cheating, his tiny brain couldn’t pass it. He had lost interest in the game, yet he increased his screen time to finish it as early as possible. A successful or peaceful life was not his target anymore. He was skipping virtual lectures anyway, and now he started bunking the real ones too. He lessened his sleep time and played more. He stopped going out to play with friends, he stopped watching TV, and he invested every leisure moment he received in taking a step further in the game. He started spending more time in the game than in reality.

Now out of college, he was doing nothing useful. But the game demanded him to. It nudged him to take up a job. That was easy, he thought, there was a reason he had chosen a rich businessman as the father. But soon he realized that his father was one of the owners of the franchise and not the sole decision maker. Besides, the other board members were not going to assign an undisciplined dropout a respectable position just like that.

Anish was fed up. ‘Freedom’ was the word he knew, but for the first time, he had begun to understand its meaning. It was something he was able to locate only in the past. Or in the future when the game was finally over. He pushed hard. He was so engrossed in his virtual life that in real life, the advertisements for jobs had begun to grab his attention. The worry deepened his eyes and darkened the circles around it. He searched and searched but couldn’t get a job. There was a child inside that grown-up body. And that child had no knowledge of handling money, taxes, or insurance. He was a kid not knowing what to say in an interview, and always got tossed behind and rejected. ‘Rejection’ was another word whose meaning he had begun to experience. It was something that weighed heavier than a mountain and was always clutched tight to his shoulder. This weight and constant sitting position had changed his posture. He no longer walked straight.

Every thirty minutes, the game kept reminding him of the deadlines and threatening to deduct the money. Anish was done. One early morning around three, while the moon still shone through his window and the VR kit was covering his head and eyes, he clicked on the red tab and decided to come clean to his father. He would understand. His mom might take time, but she would also, eventually, come around. He clicked on the red tab twice.

A blip.

WE DO NOT RAISE QUITTERS. AND TO MAKE SURE THAT WE DO NOT, WE ARE INCREASING THE PENALTY. TEN TIMES MORE AMOUNT WILL BE DEDUCTED IF YOU QUIT NOW.

A valley cracked inside Anish’s stomach. He felt beads forming all over his body, yet freezing cold made his teeth clatter for a moment. He knew how hard his father worked. Every day, he traveled almost two hours to get to his job and then same to come back. His boss wasn’t someone Anish had ever heard his father praising. One day he had seen his father get up early and leave for work even when he had a fever. No matter how late his mother came, he had always seen her clean the house and cook a meal for them. Anish had seen his parents buy new things for him, but repair and use the old ones again and again for themselves. He had always seen and never thought, never questioned. But now he had begun to. And now that he knew, he took a deep breath trying to calm his racing heart, and with a trembling finger, pointed at the green tab.

WELCOME BACK.

In the game life, Anish had left his parent’s home and was living in a scanty one-room apartment. He was in his mid-thirties and was working as a salesperson at a supermarket. He paid his taxes and had insurance now. He bought things with his hard-earned money and lived on his own terms. The salary wasn’t much but neither were the deadlines coiled around too tight. At least for the moment, the water was still. Life had begun to feel okay and he had started enjoying the game once again. And to top that, amid that scantiness, he had found the love of his life.

In his real life, complaints had started coming from his school. He had lost weight, lost interest in everything, and there was a hammering in his head that never stopped. But he never complained. At first, Rishit took him to their family doctor. But when he couldn’t bring any substantial improvement in Anish’s health even after multiple visits, Rishit decided to take his son to a psychiatrist. Anish had become delusional. Sometimes, he called his parents by the names they had never heard before. He talked about people and places that never existed. He talked about memories that were not his. Sometimes, when his mother called her husband by his name, Anish was the one who responded.

But with a loving woman in his life, there was all the more reason for Anish to spend more time, willingly, in the virtual world. For the first time, he had stopped fast-forwarding the time. He cherished every moment spent with this woman who was twenty-six years older than him. He cherished all the curves of her body as they lay in bed every night. He yearned to taste the food she cooked. He yearned to taste her flesh. He yearned for her to be in the other life. It was a nightmare without her there.

Soon, they had a baby boy and named him Anish.

Things were going good. Anish had learned the ways of managing time. He had a schedule and was allocating time in each world properly. It was hectic, but he was happy. Alas, that was not what the game was about.

One evening, after finishing his real-school classes, Anish was walking home with his friends. The reddish sun was setting at the horizon, leaving long slanted shadows of trees grooving on the road. His VR set was at home, but he had linked the notifications to his phone. He couldn’t have been at ease without timely communication with his wife and baby who were at home.

It had been hours since he had received any message from them. He was with friends, feeling bored and embarrassed with the immature things they did and talk they talked, but somehow enjoying the nostalgia nevertheless. His friends jumped, yelled, and laughed aloud, but Anish had traveled too much to do any of those things as loudly, but at least he smiled and was present most of the time. He wanted to go home and meet his wife, and kiss his baby, but today, for some reason, he was not eager. He was on the verge of believing that he had found a balance between both lives, and all was somehow fine.

His phone beeped in his pant pocket. It was a message. He ignored it. It beeped again. He ignored it again. Then it beeped three more times. The hair on Anish’s neck stood up. Everything was looking too good to be true. He slid his hand in his pocket and pulled the phone out. He read something in the notification bar, but it didn’t make any sense. It was something that wasn’t supposed to make any sense. He kept the phone back inside. The phone beeped once again. Anish felt the vibration of the beep last for at least a minute. He looked up and saw the outlines of everything before him blur and mix into each other. His friends were moving in slow motion, their voices came out in a weird hoarse pitch. Something had gone extremely askew.

Anish took out the phone. Logged into the chat of the game and read. There were big messages freshly received. Most of the letters and words felt intelligible to him, but he condensed the whole information into simple words that could have reached his brain.

YOUR WIFE HAS DIED IN AN ACCIDENT. THE BABY IS INJIRED AND ADMITTED INTO A HOSPITAL.

Anish’s lungs had transformed into blocks of metal. Heavy, cold, and incapable of sucking the air in. He looked up and saw his friends. They had traveled a considerable distance away from him. He looked down at his phone. It was a game. Just a game. He once again looked up and saw the people around him, the birds flying, the wind roaring, and the vehicles passing. A warm wave filled his heart. Yes, it was just a game. But what he was without it? His friends kept walking away without noticing that Anish had been left behind. Thousands of bees suddenly buzzed in his entire body. How did they not notice? Was that not the real world? It could not have been because he had a job, a wife, a baby. What was he doing with a bunch of kids? This was the game. But then that meant- No. He looked at the phone and read the message again. He needed help. But to whom he was supposed to ask? To whom he was supposed to call? The father with whom he had stopped talking years ago? Or the one who was sitting in his office, who had kissed him goodbye this morning? Or his mother? Which one? No one was ever available. What to do? Which was the game? Be either of them, he needed to end it. He needed to quit. Now. But the consequences. The money. He could not afford the loss of a dead wife and an injured baby. But his father would. It was his account. He would understand. But would he? He would get furious. He would never forgive him. Dead wife. Injured baby. Dead wife. Life. Which one?

“Quit,” he said, “Quit. Now. Just quit.”

He looked around. He was standing at the side of the road. The sun had set, and the darkness was settling in. Everything was a blur. But the headlights were strong, yellow, and piercing. So many headlights were there. He took two steps toward the road and saw two big lights approaching at speed. “Quit,” Anish said, “I Quit,” and jumped.