The Man Who Answered No Calls

Ravi Kapoor was a man of patterns.

Every day at 6:30 a.m., he ran the same four kilometers, brewed the same strong black tea, and left his flat exactly at 8:00. He prided himself on structure. No surprises. No deviations. And absolutely no calls from unknown numbers.

He didn’t just ignore them—he blocked them instantly. To him, answering unknown calls was inviting chaos.

Until one day, the call didn’t come from an unknown number.

It came from his own.

The phone rang while he stood brushing his teeth. Displayed on the screen, clear as daylight: “Ravi Kapoor.”

He froze.

Curiosity wrestled with fear. Rationality told him it was a scam, a spoofed number, or some weird glitch.

But his finger moved before logic could catch up.

He answered.

The line was quiet for a second. Then came a voice.

His own voice.

"Don’t go outside today."

A cold wave shot through his spine. “Who is this?”

The voice didn’t respond. The call ended.

Ravi stared at the screen. No trace of the call. No call log entry. Nothing.

Shaken, he decided to ignore it. Maybe he was overworked. Maybe his brain played tricks.

He stayed in. Skipped the run. Worked from home. Dismissed the entire thing as stress.

But the next day, the call came again. Same time. Same number.

"Don’t take the elevator."

Once again, the voice matched his own, down to the tone and pause. He obeyed, unsure why. He walked down the stairs. As he stepped outside, an ambulance screamed past.

The building elevator had jammed, trapping a man inside. Nothing fatal, but Ravi’s heart thudded in panic.

Who was warning him? And how?

That night, sleep didn’t come easy. He searched the web for stories of calls from “future selves” or time loops, anything. Forums, conspiracies, articles—nothing gave a satisfying answer.

The next morning, no call came.

And he panicked.

Had he missed it?

Was he safe now?

At 11:17 a.m., a text arrived.

“You weren’t supposed to read that file.”

Ravi blinked. What file?

He opened his laptop. The only unusual thing was a locked folder labeled “Do Not Open,” buried deep in a system backup. It wasn’t his style to label anything like that. And he had no memory of creating it.

His hands moved before his brain could stop them.

Inside were photos. Hundreds. Screenshots of security cams, personal pictures from different timelines—all of him. But not in the same clothes. Different jobs. Different places. Different injuries.

Different versions of him.

He slammed the lid shut.

The phone rang.

Same number.

"Stop digging. You’re not authorized to remember."

His voice again. This time more urgent.

Ravi whispered, “What do you mean ‘authorized’? Who are you?”

The voice didn’t answer directly.

"They’re coming. Get rid of the phone. Leave the flat. Go to Building 9. Room 204. Now."

He hesitated. His heart was beating like a drumline. This had gone beyond paranoia—it felt like a movie.

But he moved. Fast.

Out the door, down the stairs, past people who didn’t look twice. He reached Building 9, shaking. The door to Room 204 was unlocked.

It was dark inside. Empty.

Except for a chair.

And a phone.

It rang.

He picked it up.

A new voice spoke—calm, flat, robotic.

"Welcome to Recall Service. Your session is now complete. Thank you for testing future consciousness transfer. This memory will now be erased for ethical compliance."

His lips moved. “Wait, what? No. I need to know—”

Click.

The room glowed white.

Then faded to black.


---

Two Days Later.

Ravi Kapoor jogged the usual four kilometers. Drank his tea. Left at 8:00. Everything was just like before.

Only this time, when an unknown number called—

He didn’t answer.

Because he had no idea he ever did.

Everything was just like before.

Only this time, when an unknown number called—
He didn’t answer.

Because he had no idea he ever did.

But far away, in a dark room lit by monitors… someone watched Ravi reset again.
And this time, they whispered: “Let’s see how far he goes... before he remembers.”