The last call

Ravi had always believed in the power of routine. Every day, at precisely 8:30 p.m., he would call his mother, no matter where he was or what he was doing. It was a promise he made to her after his father passed away, a small act to reassure her that she wasn’t alone.

Tonight was different. Ravi had just returned from a long day at work, and exhaustion clung to him like a heavy blanket. His phone buzzed on the table, a reminder set for his nightly call. For a fleeting moment, he considered skipping it—just this once. But guilt gnawed at him, and he picked up the phone.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, forcing energy into his voice.

There was a pause, longer than usual. “Ravi, is that you?” her voice trembled on the other end, barely above a whisper.

Something in her tone made his heart skip a beat. “Yes, Mom, it’s me. Are you okay?”

“I had a dream, son,” she continued, her voice shaking. “It felt so real. You were in trouble, and I couldn’t reach you.”

Ravi smiled, trying to ease her fears. “It was just a dream, Mom. I’m fine. See? I’m talking to you right now.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and the silence grew heavy. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Ravi. Promise me.”

“I promise, Mom. Now, get some rest, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow.”

They exchanged goodbyes, but as Ravi hung up, an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. He shook it off, blaming it on the fatigue, and decided to call it a night.

The next morning, Ravi was awakened by the insistent ringing of his phone. It was his mother’s neighbor.“Ravi, you need to come home immediately,” the neighbor’s voice was filled with urgency. “It’s your mother…”

Ravi’s world tilted as he heard the words. His mother had passed away in her sleep last night. The doctors said it was a heart attack, sudden and without warning.

But that wasn’t what haunted Ravi. What kept him awake at night was the time of death—10:45 p.m. The exact time he had made the call.

Except, when he checked his call log, there was no record of the conversation.