A pensive silence hung around, making the very air around him heavy with discomfort. He looked transfixed into his phone. A memory came flooding back to his mind. It was him at his mother’s funeral. He sat there, thinking about how painful it was. He gulped at his saliva and continued looking at his phone. Just then, the phone rang again. The plate kept on the table besides the phone started shivering as the vibration of the phone shook the glass table top. His eyes turned bloodshot red as he realised that the plate was heaped with his mother’s favourite dish—a slice of tuna marinated in a lemony green paste and yellow rice. The name on the phone read: Amma Calling… his fingers shook as he pressed the answer button. And as he did that, it hung, suspending him in a thick blanket of terror. The call logs were blank, evaporating into thin air. The only residue that remained was that of fear. Then, it rang again.