The alarm clock's loud sound woke Arjun up every morning. It was always six-thirty. No matter how much he wanted to sleep, the clock made him get up. He'd hit it to make it quiet, but he still felt sleepy.
His mornings were always the same. First, a quick shower. The water wasn't very warm, but it helped him wake up. Then, a fast breakfast – usually two pieces of toast with butter and some warm tea. He'd eat standing in his small kitchen. He'd look at the news on his old phone. He could hear his neighbors waking up and the city cars far away. He could also smell food from downstairs. These were the normal sounds and smells of his morning.
By seven forty-five, he was out the door. His bag felt heavy on his back, just like always. The walk to the bus stop was short. He'd see people selling things, kids going to school, and cars honking loudly. Arjun was just one more person in the busy crowd. His job was also normal. He worked with numbers at an office. He spent eight hours looking at computer screens, writing reports, and going to meetings that felt useless. His coworkers were nice, but they didn't share any special interests. They just wanted the workday to end.
Evenings weren't much different. Dinner was quick, sometimes food he bought, sometimes a simple meal he cooked fast. He usually spent the rest of his time looking at things online, reading an old book, or talking to his parents on the phone. He'd tell them everything was "fine." He felt like his dreams were far away now. All he thought about was paying rent and bills. His life was a set of simple steps, a quiet way of living where every day felt like the last. The idea of anything exciting happening seemed funny to him. He was, like everyone could see, just a regular man living a regular life.
One day on Tuesday afternoon, the air in the office felt extra stale. Arjun was staring at a spreadsheet, numbers blurring before his eyes. He felt a dull ache behind them. He rubbed his temples, hoping to make the headache go away.
Suddenly, a strange feeling buzzed through his fingers. It wasn't pain, more like a tiny electric tingle, like static electricity but inside him. He looked down at his hands, confused. Nothing looked different.
He wished that he could just make the data sort itself, or better yet, make the workday disappear.
Just then, his old computer screen flickered. The numbers on his spreadsheet seemed to jump and shift on their own, not because of his mouse or keyboard. Arjun blinked. Was he just tired? He rubbed his eyes again.
As he thought this, a strange flicker caught his eye. His computer screen, usually so stable and predictable, suddenly warped. The lines of the spreadsheet stretched and squeezed as if someone was playing with a funhouse mirror. It wasn't a normal technical glitch; it felt… responsive. Like the screen was listening to his frustration.
Arjun blinked, shaking his head. "Must be tired," he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes. He focused hard, trying to clear his vision, trying to push the headache away.
He leaned closer to the screen, squinting at the distorted numbers. He wished intensely that the columns would just realign, that the data would snap back into place. And as that thought formed, strong and clear in his mind, the display did snap. The warped lines straightened out instantly, the numbers resettling perfectly, as if commanded.
Arjun froze. His breath hitched. He hadn't touched the mouse. He hadn't pressed a single key. He slowly pulled his hand back from his temples, staring at the screen. It was perfectly normal now, showing the data just as it should be.
He looked around the office. No one else seemed to have noticed. His colleagues were still typing, talking, lost in their own normal work. Was he imagining things? Was he finally cracking under the weight of his boring job?
Cautiously, Arjun leaned forward again. He looked at a different part of the spreadsheet, a block of text. He thought, with a quiet, experimental force, "Shrink."
And just like that, the text on his screen compressed, becoming visibly smaller, the font almost unreadable, without him touching any controls. His heart began to pound a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He quickly thought, "Normal size!" and the text returned to its original dimensions.
Arjun slowly pulled back from his desk, a cold shiver running through him. This was not a glitch. This was not tiredness. He had willed something to happen on his computer screen, and it had obeyed. A quiet, impossible power had just sparked to life within him, connecting directly to the digital world he spent his days immersed in. His ordinary life had just taken its first, terrifyingly significant, step.