Neelam maa stared at the screen like it had personally offended her, then looked at me, then at Shilpa maa, like she was silently asking, "Yeh sach mein ho raha hai?" (Is this actually happening?)
She picked up the call and pressed the phone to her ear like it might explode.
"Hello, sir."
I couldn't hear the other side, but I could see her spine straighten with every word.
"Yes sir... yes, he's here with us... okay, sir, I'll pass the phone."
She held the phone out to me with both hands, the way people hand over something sacred, or something radioactive.
I took it. Cleared my throat like I actually knew how to talk to a Chief Minister.
"Hello, sir. Thank you for calling."
The voice on the other end was warm, practiced, the kind of warmth politicians train for years to sound genuine. "Congratulations, Vijay. All of India is proud of you today. Now, as per the competition rules, the winner gets the rare opportunity to propose a constitutional amendment. Tell me, what change do you want to see?"
I looked at my mothers. At Neelam ma'am, who was still wiping her eyes with the end of her saree like she hadn't already cried enough for one lifetime.
And I thought about every single person who had ever been told to hide who they loved. Every person who had been forced to sit at family functions pretending, smiling through something that ate them alive quietly, year after year.
"Sir," I said, "I want equal marriage rights and full legal protection for the LGBTQ community. I want them to be able to live, love, and marry openly, without shame, without fear, and without the society deciding their worth for them. That's my first request. I know it's not a small ask. But I believe if anyone can push it through, it's you."
Silence.
Not the polite kind. The full, heavy, thirty-second kind of silence where you can practically hear the man on the other end recalculating his entire evening.
Neelam ma'am and Shilpa maa were both staring at me now, matching expressions of what did you just do, beta.
Finally, the CM spoke again, slower this time. "That is... a very big change to ask for, Vijay."
"I know, sir. But it's the right one."
Another pause. Then, almost tiredly, almost respectfully, "Alright. I will try my best to push this forward quickly, because after this call, I already know the Prime Minister himself will be calling me tomorrow, asking exactly what you want changed. If it's something this sensitive, he'll want to hear it directly."
"That's fine, sir. Tell him to call whenever he wants. I don't sleep much these days anyway."
The CM actually let out a short laugh, like he hadn't expected that from a seventeen-year-old. "And your second request?"
"I'll tell you tomorrow morning, sir. I haven't decided yet. I want to think it through properly. This isn't something I want to waste."
"Fair enough. Goodnight, Vijay. And well done. Truly."
The line went dead.
For a moment, nobody in the living room said anything. Then Shilpa maa broke the silence in the most Shilpa maa way possible.
"Beta, you just told the Chief Minister to fix the constitution and casually said you'll finish the rest 'tomorrow morning,' like it's homework."
"It kind of is," I said. "Just with slightly higher stakes than maths."
We ate cake straight out of the box with plastic spoons, sitting on the floor because none of us had the energy to pull out plates. Nobody talked about the call again. It felt too big to talk about right after it happened, the kind of moment you needed to sit with quietly before it became real.
By the time I crawled into bed, my body was exhausted but my brain refused to shut off. Old habit. Or maybe not a habit. Maybe just something that had been living inside me for a long time now.
I closed my eyes and pulled up the one thing that had never once, not a single time, let me down.
[SYSTEM ONLINE]
[MISSION COMPLETE: Prototype Development – Sanitary Pad Machine]
[REWARD: 1,00,000 SP (System Points)]
[REWARD: 2x WISH TOKENS]
I stared at the glowing panel floating in the dark of my room, the same way I stared at it every single time. Still not used to it. Probably never would be.
Finally, I thought. A win that doesn't come with a headache.
I was already scrolling through the shop, mentally calculating what one lakh points could buy me, when the panel flickered violently and the calm blue interface I was used to turned an aggressive, pulsing red.
[⚠ EMERGENCY ALERT ⚠]
My stomach dropped before I even read the next line.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath, sitting up straight in the dark. "That's new. System, what's going on?"
[Host has successfully completed the assigned mission.]
[However, in the process, Host has drawn the attention of powerful and dangerous individuals connected to the constitutional request made tonight.]
[Risk Assessment: 99.99% probability of assassination attempt against Host and Host's family within the coming weeks.]
I read it twice. Then a third time, hoping the numbers would rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.
They didn't.
"Great," I whispered. "Absolutely fantastic. I built a machine to help women, asked for basic human dignity for an entire community, and the universe's response is let's murder the family."
[System offers two options, Host.]
[OPTION 1: Spend 1,00,000 SP and 1 Wish Token. System will erase all trace of Host's identity, image, and family information connected specifically to this competition. Anyone attempting to trace, locate, or harm Host or family through this competition, this patent, or tonight's request will find nothing. This protection does not make Host invisible forever, it applies only to threats originating from this event. If Host builds a public name later through other means, that trail will exist normally. But no one will ever be able to connect that future name back to tonight.]
[OPTION 2: Decline. Keep all SP and both Wish Tokens. Proceed without protection. System has calculated a 99.99% probability of severe harm to Host and Host's family as a direct result.]
I sat there in the dark, medal still resting on my nightstand where I'd tossed it hours ago, prize check folded into my drawer, my mothers finally sleeping peacefully in the next room for the first time in months.
Ek taraf paise. Doosri taraf unki zindagi.
(On one side, money. On the other, their lives.)
I didn't need thirty seconds of silence like the CM did.