It wasn’t out of cruelty. His father, Nandan, had entered the early stages of dementia, and the spam calls had become a torment—fraudsters promising lottery winnings, fake banks demanding OTPs, and telemarketers selling immortality in a bottle. Each call left Nandan confused, sometimes in tears. So Arjun barred all incoming numbers except his own, his mother’s, and the family doctor’s. Peace returned.
He fumbled with the settings, fingers shaking, disabling the call barring feature. But it was too late. By the time he reached the room, the monitors were flatlining.
But tonight, Arjun stood in a fluorescent-lit hospital corridor, phone pressed to his ear, listening to a prerecorded voice: “The number you are calling has call barring active. Please try again later.” call barring feature
The nurse ran past him. “Your father’s oxygen levels dropped. He tried to call you.”
His mother had stepped out to buy dinner. The doctor was in surgery. And Nandan, alone in his hospital bed, had just pressed the emergency button that routed through his own phone—the one Arjun had locked down so carefully. It wasn’t out of cruelty
Later, the nurse handed him Nandan’s phone. On the screen, still glowing, was a half-typed text message, autocorrect mangling the words: “son, i am scared. please unblock me.”
Arjun clutched the phone. The feature that was meant to bar the world had barred the only voice that mattered. So Arjun barred all incoming numbers except his
Here’s a short story built around the phrase Arjun had enabled the call barring feature on his father’s phone three years ago.