David slowly wakes up, accompanied by the disorienting, heavy feeling that only comes from sleeping far past one's alarm. He blinked against the harsh afternoon light filtering through the glasses, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams mocking his lethargy. He grabbed his phone to check the time, wincing as the screen lit up: it was already two in the afternoon.
He quickly stripped off his sleep clothes, threw on a fresh shirt, and hurried downstairs. The hostel was quiet, the usual morning bustle long gone. He headed for the cafeteria, grateful for the all-day service. Since the lunch rush had ended hours ago, the large dining hall was echoing and nearly empty, save for a few staff members wiping down tables. The smell of stale sambar and floor cleaner hung in the air. He didn't have to wait long; he shoveled the cold food into his mouth, his mind already racing ahead to the tasks of the day.
Once he had some food in his stomach, he stepped out into the corridor to make the necessary call. He dialed his mother's number, listening to the trill of the ringtone, mentally rehearsing his script.
"Amma, how are things? Are you doing well?" he asked as soon as she picked up, injecting a note of casual cheer into his voice.
"Why are you calling in the afternoon?" Her voice was sharp, laced with the instinctive suspicion of a parent disrupted from her routine. "You usually call at night. And why didn't you call yesterday?"
"Nothing, Amma. I just slept early yesterday," he lied smoothy, leaning against the peeling paint of the hallway wall. "Amma, listen, I need to buy some books, and my phone is acting up badly — the screen is flickering. I need to replace it. Could you ask Papa to deposit some money?"
He held his breath. He knew the unwritten rules of these negotiations: if he didn't list at least two or three valid reasons, the amount sent would be meager.
There was a pause on the other end. "Do you have enough money for your daily expenses?" Her tone softened, the motherly instinct overriding the suspicion. "Let me ask your father. Do you need the money right now?"
David pictured her back home, likely grading papers or preparing tea. As a school teacher, she was meticulous with finances, always keeping a secret reserve of cash tucked away in a steel almirah for emergencies exactly like this.
"Amma, it would be great if I got it today," he pressed, adding a layer of urgency. "I'm actually usinging a friend's phone right now because mine is dead." He felt shame about the lie, 24 year old man asking money from mother for expenses; in his mind, it was a necessary lubricant to keep the gears of his life turning.
"Okay," she sighed. "I will tell your brother to deposit the money at the bank immediately. Make sure you eat your meals on time. Don't worry about money."
David smiled faintly. It was the universal worry of all mothers, the ultimate metric of well-being: whether their children were eating on schedule.
"I will, Amma. Bye."
David hung up and checked the time again. It was 3:00 PM. The banking system was usually fast; the money would hit his account before 4:00. He stood in the hallway, the silence of the afternoon pressing in on him. A thought tugged at the back of his mind: Should I go to the hospital and see a doctor before that?
He looked down at his wrist. The bracelet sat there. He paused, wrestling with the idea. Going to a doctor meant acknowledging something was wrong, perhaps opening a door he wasn't ready to walk through.
No, forget it, he decided, shaking his head. Let me buy the phone first. Let me see if this bracelet has any real use or if I'm just being paranoid. I'll decide whether to see a doctor after that.
With his mind made up, he decided to head straight to the electronics market. It was the beating heart of the city's gray market — a place where you could find anything if you knew where to look: old gadgets, new global releases, and even stolen goods that had been scrubbed clean.
He walked to the bus stop, the humid heat of the afternoon wrapping around him. As he stepped off the bus and began the walk toward the market district, his pocket vibrated. He pulled out his phone to see a text message: 'The money had been credited.'
A wave of relief washed over him. With the 3,000 rupees he had painstakingly saved in his account and the 10,000 rupees that had just arrived, he now had a total of 13,000 rupees at his disposal. It felt like a fortune.
David entered the electronics market alone. He hadn't told Ajith about his plan; this mission required focus, and he didn't want any distractions or judgment.
Having lived in Hyderabad for nearly seven months, the city no longer felt alien to him. He could understand and speak enough broken Telugu to navigate the streets and bargain with the locals. The electronics market was a sensory assault — a building sprawling with small, cramped shops packed violently close together. Neon signs flickered even in the daylight, wires hung like vines from the ceilings, and the air smelled of ozone, dust, and new electronics. It was a chaotic ecosystem where anyone with cash could find anything — from the newest flagship phones to vintage tech and cutting-edge gadgets. However, finding quality items at a bargain price was an art form; it required patience, a sharp eye, and a significant stroke of luck.
Today, it seemed, luck was on his side.
As he navigated a particularly crowded alley, he noticed a commotion gathering around a specific stall. Two men were arguing loudly, their voices rising above the ambient hum of the market. David pushed through the ring of curious onlookers, craning his neck to see the source of the drama.
An older man with thinning gray hair and a distressed expression was shouting at the shopkeeper. "I bought this yesterday for 18,000 rupees! It hasn't even been a day, and you're telling me the value has dropped by half?"
The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man sitting on a plastic stool, shrugged with infuriating indifference. He cleaned his fingernails with a small screwdriver, barely looking up. "New or old, it doesn't matter to me. I only make money if I resell it. If I buy it for 9,000, I might make a 2,000 rupee profit. That's just business. Take it or leave it."
That was when David's eyes drifted to the object in the older man's trembling hand.
His heart skipped a beat. 'Isn't that the Google Nexus One?'
David's eyes widened as he focused on the device. The trackball, the sleek design — it was unmistakable. That phone cost a fortune brand new, easily out of his budget. To see it here, being haggled over like a sack of onions, was surreal.
David stepped forward, adrenaline spiking as he interrupted the argument. "Sir," he said, his voice steady despite his excitement. "I'll give you 10,000 rupees for that phone. Will you sell it to me?"
The shopkeeper's head snapped up. Annoyed that a stranger was cutting into his potential profit, he glared at David. "Who are you to interfere in my business? Get lost!"
David knew this game well. In markets like this, shopkeepers often created scenes, acting uninterested or hostile to squeeze a desperate seller into accepting a rock-bottom price. David's offer had just ruined the shopkeeper's leverage.
The gray-haired man saw a lifeline. He turned away from the rude shopkeeper and pivoted to David, hope flickering in his eyes. "10,000 isn't enough," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. "I need at least 15,000. It's brand new."
"I only have 10,000," David said firmly, locking eyes with the man. He kept his face neutral, hiding his desperation to own the device. "If you want more than that, I can't help you."
Realizing the deal was lost, the shopkeeper waved his hand dismissively, spitting a stream of paan onto the ground nearby. "I'm not paying a rupee over 9,000. If he's offering 10,000, then you two can take your business outside. Don't block my shop."
The older man hesitated, looking from the shopkeeper to David. He had been trying to sell the phone since morning, walking from stall to stall in the heat. Every shopkeeper had quoted him the same lowball figure of 9,000, acting like a cartel. He hadn't expected to sell an 18,000 rupee phone for such a steep loss, but he was clearly desperate for liquid cash.
"If you can do 12,000, I'll sell it right now," the man negotiated, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Like I said, I only have 10,000 on me," David lied slightly, acutely aware of the 13,000 sitting in his bank account. He needed to save the rest for the month. "I can try to scrape together another 500, but that's my absolute limit. And I'll have to run to the ATM for that extra cash."
The man stared at the phone in his hand, then looked at David. He sighed, a sound of heavy resignation. "What is your name, son?"
David suppressed a smile. He knew the deal was done. In India, asking for a name was the universal sign of a verbal agreement — a shift from a transaction to a relationship. "David. And yours, sir?"
"My name is Jagadeesh. Alright, David. 10,500 it is. There is an ATM across the street. Go get the cash."
David didn't waste a second. "I'll be right back."
He ran to the ATM, his feet pounding against the pavement. He withdrew the money, the crisp notes whirring out of the machine, and returned quickly before Jagadeesh could change his mind.
"Here you go, Uncle. Rupees 10,500."
David took the phone, his hands trembling slightly. He inspected it, turning it over to check for scratches, and powered it on. The screen lit up vividly, the Google logo bright and clear. It was working perfectly. He handed over the cash to Jagadeesh, who counted it with the practiced speed of a man who needed every rupee.
With the sleek Google Nexus One safely tucked deep into his pocket, David felt a surge of triumph. He navigated his way out of the labyrinthine market and boarded the bus back to his room, the prize pressing against his leg with every bump in the road.