The Unknown Message
1315 Words
Carlos sat hunched in the dim light of his cracked phone screen, thumb hovering nervously above the glass. The vibration came again—another message.
You did a good job managing the country. I’ve sent your salary. Enjoy.
His breathing stopped.
A second message flashed immediately:
You have received $10,000 into your account 1635xxxxxxxx.
Carlos’s heart pounded. His screen was cracked, the text distorted at the edges, but the words were undeniable. At the bottom, a stark note pulsed:
You cannot reply to this message.
He stared at it, his pulse racing. Who was this? Who knew him as Charlie? The two worlds—one with Aivi, raw and real, and the other with Suriya, vast and sovereign—seemed to bleed together in his chest.
He pressed the phone to his sternum and closed his eyes, forcing a long breath. I can’t lose either of them.
The faint clink of utensils pulled him from his thoughts. He stood, slid his phone into his pocket, and leaned against the kitchen doorway.
Aivi sat at the table, in her loose T-shirt, legs swinging, carefully spreading peanut butter across a slice of bread. Her cheeks were puffed as she chewed, smiling at nothing at all.
Carlos felt the tension in him soften. This—this quiet, this small joy—was what brought him back here.
“Good?” he asked warmly.
She turned, eyes bright, mouth still full. “Mhnn!”
He laughed quietly and sat opposite her, scooping far too much peanut butter on a slice and handing it over.
“Here,” he said, smiling.
Her eyes widened at the overloaded toast. “That’s way too much, babe.” She giggled, stealing another piece and layering it more modestly.
Carlos pulled out the chair closer, dropping into it. “You need to eat properly. I’m working today, so no skipping meals.”
Her chewing slowed. “But… babe. We can’t buy another one. That’s the last jar.”
He reached over and ruffled her hair, before pressing a light kiss to her lips. “Don’t worry. I got a job. A real one. We’ll be fine.”
Her hands stilled, knife mid-air. “…Seriously?”
He gave her a reassuring look. “Part-time, technically. But it pays $50 an hour.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Fifty? That’s more money than my professor makes!”
Carlos smirked, tapping her nose. “When you finish your doctorate, maybe I’ll share the secret. For now—just eat well and study hard.”
Her lips curled into a smile. She leaned in, kissing him quickly. “I will.”
From the corner of his eye, Carlos noticed the wall calendar.
1st May, 2025. A holiday.
He stood suddenly. “Come on. Get dressed. Let’s go shopping. Clothes. Food. Whatever you want.”
Later – At the Mall
The mall wasn’t luxurious, but it was crowded—bright stalls, chatter everywhere, energy buzzing. They tried clothes, laughing at the stranger fits, teasing each other over colors and styles. By the time they walked out, each carried five bags, Aivi twirling like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine.
–$450
Carlos adjusted the bags. “Alright, let’s head home. My arms are giving up.”
At their apartment, they ordered food—mutton biryani and chicken 65. The aroma filled the small space, rich, oily, intoxicating. They dug in together, plates messy, sauce on their fingers, laughing with their mouths full.
–$30
“This… this tastes like real food,” Carlos muttered into his rice.
Aivi beamed, lips shining with spice. “Better than noodles every day!”
Later, she dozed off curled beside him, light breaths brushing his chest. Carlos lifted his phone quietly and unlocked his banking app.
Balance: $24,000
His throat tightened. A number he’d never seen there.
A car. A house. A stable future. Finally, something for Aivi.
He gently lowered her head onto the couch and grabbed a pen and a blank sheet. Under the hush of the single bulb, he began sketching. Childlike figures, but his lines carried vision—land layouts, flowcharts, storage patterns. His handwriting circled around percent gains and design notes.
Aivi stirred awake once, watching silently as he muttered calculations to himself. “Plant faces west… efficiency twelve percent… reinforce storage…”
She just smiled faintly and drifted back.
That Night
When they finally collapsed together under a thin bedsheet, Carlos held Aivi close, kissing the crown of her head until their breaths slowed into sleep.
And then, as it always came, the shift.
His chest grew heavy… the world dimmed…
5th January, 2000 — Palace of Suriya
Charlie Kings opened his eyes to velvet cushions beneath him. Gold-trimmed curtains moved gently with the breeze. The calendar on his desk confirmed the date.
He jolted up, grabbed a scroll and charcoal pencil, and settled at the window. Outside, the capital glimmered. Inside, his hand flew across the page, sketching the same industrial flow diagrams Carlos had drawn hours earlier, except sharper, refined.
The soft creak of a door broke his focus.
Varin entered, silent but watchful. He stepped closer, reading the designs over Charlie’s shoulder.
Finally, the soldier’s voice lowered. “You mean to pursue this.”
Charlie didn’t look up. “If we succeed, the nation powers itself. No more dependency—not a cent wasted.”
A faint fragrance reached him, rosewater and fresh soap.
Kale entered. Barefoot, she crossed the chamber and dropped onto the couch beside him, pulling the parchment from his hands with a mischievous look.
“What’s this?”
He leaned back, gently kneading her feet. “A project. One that’ll employ fifty thousand people… and save us four hundred million dollars every year.”
Her eyes widened. “Real?”
“Very.”
She leaned closer, voice low with curiosity. “And what kind of project does that?”
He smirked. “Solar. Gigantic. Enough to light the entire northern quadrant. But this drawing… this is just the foundation.”
She pinched his side playfully. “Freshen up. You have work.”
She kissed his cheek and disappeared into his chambers.
Later
Showered and dressed in sharp attire, Charlie authorized a $100 million transfer to a Japanese firm—second payment for specialized machinery. The deal shaved months off his solar factory timeline.
He and Varin boarded a black car headed north, toward the lands of Altar. The terrain stretched barren, flat and uncultivated. To Charlie, it looked like potential incarnate.
“The land’s dry, sunlight merciless,” he muttered. “Exactly what we need.”
He turned to Varin. “Did you find the man?”
Varin nodded. “Yes. Reliable, skilled. He’ll work for a hundred.”
Charlie handed over the designs. “Give him this. The first plant must be ready in forty days.”
Three Days Later
The northern valley buzzed with motion. Dozens of supply trucks rumbled in, stocked with cement, steel, cabling, imported tools. Twenty thousand workers stood in ranks, divided by skill—diggers, electricians, welders, architects.
Charlie surveyed them, the dry wind tugging at his coat. His voice carried across the valley:
“Feed them. Pay them. Treat them as soldiers. We build this together.”
Food tents rose quickly in rows. Assignment boards were posted. Teams were dispatched to cut trenches, draw wiring paths, lay initial concrete.
For decades, the unemployed had stood in queues, aimless. Today, they had hammers, drills, hard hats, and purpose.
Charlie stood over the barren expanse, already picturing:
—solar gigafactories rising from the ground,
—silicon processing plants forging panels from raw ore,
—silver and copper processed here,
—batteries manufactured and shipped out under the Suriyan standard.
All local. All sovereign.
And for the first time in decades, Charlie whispered to himself:
“This… is no dream. This is the start.”
- Writer
