When the Clock Strikes Two-4

Shocking News

I swiped my ID card on the reader and entered the office, following the man who had shared the lift ride up.
Even though I had expected it, the change in the office layout still unsettled me.

Until yesterday, the workspace had been open—rows of desks arranged side by side. Today, everything was different. The floor was divided into cubicles, each holding three employees. The familiarity was gone.

Now came the real problem.
Where do I sit?

My ID card listed my position as Junior Sales Engineer, so I definitely didn’t have a private office like the one I had until yesterday. I walked slowly down the aisle, hoping someone would call out to me.

No one did.

The people who passed by either glanced at me with faint concern or avoided eye contact altogether. No one approached. A knot formed in my stomach.

Did I do something wrong?

A few faces seemed familiar—images I remembered from old news articles related to the coma incidents. The thought made my steps falter.

“Hey, where are you going?” a voice called out from my left as I passed a cubicle.

I stopped and turned. The man speaking to me was unfamiliar.

“You remember your seat, don’t you?” he asked, studying me.

“Y… yeah,” I replied, fumbling.

I stepped into the cubicle and sat on a chair.

He stared at me.

I stood up again, uncertain, and moved to the third seat instead. He smiled—softly, with concern.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “You just need some time to pick yourself up. Honestly, I thought you’d extend your leave for a few more days.”

He paused, then added, “When my mom died, I couldn’t move for a month. But you’re handling it much better than I did. Coming back to work after a week is strong of you.”

I froze.

My lungs refused to work.
“W… what di… did you just say?” I whispered.

“I… I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he said quickly. “Take it slow today.”

He turned back to his computer.

My breathing turned ragged.

I stood up and walked quickly toward the exit. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and dialed Mom’s number.

No answer.

Again.
And again.

Nothing.

I dialed Nikitha.

No response the first time. She answered on the second.

“What?” she yelled.

I stepped out of the office and stared through the glass wall, the world beyond it blurring.
“W… where is my mom?” I asked, my voice breaking.

“What’s wrong with you?” she snapped. “Is this some kind of delayed reaction or something?”

I didn’t respond.

She continued, irritated. “You don’t remember the funeral we held for that hag?”

My chest tightened violently.

I gasped for air, pressing my hand against the glass as the phone slipped from my fingers and hit the floor. My legs gave way.

I collapsed.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as the truth crushed me, breath by breath.

No, this is not real. I thought. I gradually tried to slow down my breathing.

My mother is definitely alive. They said I was on leave for a week. I gradually stood up. I heard the elevator door opening behind me. I wiped my tears off and rubbed my face. She was alive until yesterday. I need to get to the bottom of this. First, I need to write everything down and see it from outside to get a clear picture. And I need a few days for myself to study where I am.

I slowly went back into the office and then to my seat.

I tapped the shoulder of the man who had spoken to me earlier.

“Hey, do you know where the manager is?” I asked.

He stared at me for a second.

“He went to have breakfast—like usual,” he said. “I think about twenty minutes ago. He’ll be back in—”, he glanced toward the entrance of the cubicle, “Ah. There he is.”

A man in his forties walked in.

“Hey, Sharon. Hope you’re doing better now. Sorry I couldn’t attend the funeral.”

I stayed silent, my eyes fixed on the desk.

His face shifted, concern creeping in.
“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I… I’m sorry, sir,” I said softly. “I thought I could be back, but could you please permit me a few more days?”

He looked at me sternly.
“Okay. How many?”

“A week?”

The man beside me jolted in his seat.

The manager’s eyes widened. His tone hardened.
“Do you think this is some kind of restaurant? That you can visit whenever you want?” he asked. “I was nice to you because you were going through a bad time. But now you’re trying to take advantage of me?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean that,” I said quickly. “I just thought I should come back with a fresh, energized mind.”

He stared at me fiercely.
“You were never doing a good job. What would a fresh, calm mind even change?”

My entire body trembled.

“Sir Chaudhary, please,” the man beside me said quietly.

The manager exhaled and slowly calmed down.

“Take two days,” he said, irritation heavy in his voice. “And come back immediately after that.”

He turned and walked out of the cubicle.

I sank into my chair, breathing heavily. It had been a long time since I’d faced this kind of heat from a manager.

“Bold,” the man beside me said, typing without looking at me. “Bold to ask for an extended leave from the Cut-throat.”

I turned toward my monitor.

I needed to change my password. But before that, I needed a half-hour break.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, standing up.

I grabbed the notepad and pen from my desk and headed to the break room. I poured myself some tea into a paper cup and sat at a table near the corner.

I began writing down everything that had happened, in order—the major changes I had noticed today.

I collapsed.
Nikitha woke me up in a different apartment this morning. She wasn’t the same either.

I stopped writing. Wait. No.

I woke up early this morning—around 2 a.m. I had dreamt of something. What was it? I couldn’t remember.

I added it before Nikitha waking me up.

Then I came to work, and Bangalore wasn’t the same. The energy of the city felt different. Many features I knew had changed.

I pressed my fingers to my head, trying to remember if there was anything else.

Yes.

I had seen many people who were reported to be in a coma until yesterday. And the news I used to read about the coma incidents—it wasn’t available online.

I need to check with one of them.
I need to confirm if they were really in a coma.
And I need to check if anyone knows about the news.

Yes.

I got up from my seat.

A woman in her twenties had just entered the break room. She smiled at me.

I recognized her immediately—from the news. I had seen an article about her being in a coma a month ago or so.

I smiled back and raised my hand, signaling her to come sit near me. I pulled the chair beside mine closer to the table. She looked a little surprised but walked over and sat down.

“How are you doing?” she asked, her smile warm.

“Better,” I replied in a low voice.

“I… I came to the funeral,” she said. “But seeing you like that—so devastated…”
She looked down.
“I couldn’t come and talk to you.”

“Where were you last month?” I asked immediately.

She looked up, surprised by the question.
“I was in town. Why do you ask?”

“Did you have any health issues or anything?”

She stared at me for a moment.
“No… Why are you asking me all these questions?” Her expression shifted, doubt creeping in. “Are you really okay now, Sharon?”

“Oh… yeah. I’m fine,” I said quickly. “I just needed some clarity on things.”

She stayed silent for a moment. Then she spoke softly.
“I know how your wife is. So you can talk to me whenever you need.”

She placed her hand over mine.

I flinched and pulled my hand away. I stared at her, shocked at first, then forced a smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just need some time to get used to everything,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”

Her face dulled.

We sat in silence for a moment.

“Have you come across any news about people falling into a coma or something?” I asked, breaking it.

“No,” she replied briefly, looking down at the table.

Then she looked back at me.
“Oh, that reminds me. That guy they caught during the blast incident? His mind doesn’t seem to be right.”

I stared at her.
“What blast incident?” I asked.

She frowned again.
“You were the one talking to me about it a lot before last week. You don’t remember?”

“Oh… yeah. I remember,” I said quickly. “It all just… went out of my mind.”

“Oh, I can understand,” she said warmly. “Anyway, I have a meeting now. Talk to me if you need anything, okay?”

She stood up and walked away.

I took out my phone, unlocked it, and opened the news app I had checked earlier. The first headline was about a blast incident—one I had missed before.

I opened it.

Chennai Blast Investigation Stalls After Two Weeks; Police Say Neal Is Mentally Unstable

I scrolled through the article.

I jolted in my chair.

Why… why is this in the news?, I thought, shock rippling through me.

(To be continued)