Chapter 1- Who is looking at the box?
Written by Kavya and concept by Sidhant
It was a curious evening in three vastly different corners of the world. Soto, Absko, and Shree—each unaware of the other—were confronted by a mysterious, intricately carved wooden box that seemed to materialise out of nowhere, each in their own secluded space. The question that loomed in their minds was the same: Who had placed it there?
In the heart of Tokyo, Soto sat in his small, dimly lit apartment, gazing at the box in disbelief. He had not left his home in nearly two years, and yet, here it was, sitting innocently on the floor as if it belonged to him. He was a hikikomori, a term in Japanese referring to individuals who withdraw from society, often for extended periods, and live in near-total isolation. Soto had embraced this lifestyle 672 days ago—two days after something terrible had happened, though the exact nature of that event remained a mystery. He had become one of the growing number of young people who retreated into their homes, seeking solace in seclusion, while the world outside seemed too harsh to bear.
Soto’s mother, Mrs. Yua Yamamoto, had been devastated by his decision. Her diary entries, written through tears, were full of sorrow and unanswered questions. She wrote about the boy who had once been the pride of the family—an exceptionally gifted student, a master of robotic programming, and employed at a prestigious company developing robotic house assistants. He had been offered a comfortable salary and a fully furnished apartment. He could have had it all—a life of success, family, and happiness—but instead, he had turned his back on the world and confined himself to his prison of metal and circuits.
Mrs. Yamamoto often reflected on the days when Soto was still a child, bringing her flowers on Sundays and engaging in their family dojo sessions. A dojo, in Japanese tradition, is a place where one practices martial arts, but in Soto’s family, it was also a space for thoughtful conversation, tea, and contemplation. She remembered the joyful moments they shared there, and in the stillness of her home, she longed for those days. Soto’s decision to shut himself away was a blow to her heart. She would sit before his belongings, often in the almirah—a cupboard—where she kept his things, holding onto the memories of a son she could no longer reach.
To the outside world, Soto’s apartment must have seemed like a paradise: an automated, high-tech marvel, filled with the products of his own design. His robotic house assistants catered to every need, and his life was one of technological wonder. He often explained to his mother that he was living according to his ikigai, a Japanese concept meaning "a reason for being"—the purpose that gives one life meaning. But beneath this calm exterior, there was a far darker reason for his withdrawal from the world, one that no one knew, least of all his mother.
Meanwhile, in New Delhi, India, Shree was preoccupied with a case that had unfolded in a most unexpected way. As a skilled hacker, she had built a website called "Locate"—a platform dedicated to helping find missing people. Today, she had helped reunite a missing child, Dharvi, with her grandparents. The child’s father had been an unfit guardian, and after the tragic death of his wife, the grandparents had won custody of the girl. But just one day after she was returned to their care, Dharvi had disappeared again. It was Shree’s intervention, using her hacking skills to trace the father’s whereabouts, that led to the discovery of the man’s location. With a few clever manipulations of various databases, Shree had found the man and his address, bringing Dharvi home once more.
Shree, born into a Hindu family in the bustling, crowded streets of Chandni Chowk in Delhi, was a quiet, introspective child. Her older brother, Dev, had introduced her to the world of computers and hacking. While others found interest in the play of childhood, Shree was drawn to the logic and puzzles that the digital world offered. Her talent in this domain had grown over the years, and she started the Locate website to help others, though deep down, she had always hoped that it might one day help her find her own brother, who had disappeared the same day she launched the site. Despite her success in helping many families, the mystery of Dev’s disappearance remained unsolved, and her heart remained heavy with unanswered questions.
Shree’s talent and determination had earned her a spot in one of India’s most prestigious engineering colleges. She was the only girl in her class of fifty—an achievement that made her parents proud. Yet, despite her success, there was always something missing. The world outside seemed to go on without her, and the absence of Dev, the one person she had cared for most, left a hole that no amount of recognition could fill.
In Nairobi, Kenya, Absko sat in his small apartment, staring at the same carved box that had appeared before Soto and Shree. Absko’s life had been marked by tragedy. Ten years ago, his father had disappeared, leaving behind only a note that read, “My love, I need some answers, and I am going in search of them. I am sorry.” His mother, Mrs. Zawadi Kamau, had done her best to raise Absko alone. She ran a small jewellery shop, where she sold handmade trinkets and jewellery crafted from local stones. Despite the hardship, they had managed to get by.
Absko had always been a quiet, introverted person. His job as a content moderator, where he reviewed disturbing and often graphic content online, had left him emotionally numb. He watched videos of violence, abuse, and crime, yet the only thing that seemed to stir any emotion within him was a vague sense of despair. His mother would often remind him to be thankful for the small blessings they had: food, shelter, and safety. But Absko felt trapped in a monotonous routine. His life lacked excitement, and the weight of his father’s disappearance still haunted him.
It was during his routine inspection of the mysterious box that Absko noticed something odd. The intricate carving on the box seemed to match the shape of his left index finger, which had always been abnormal. He had been born with a noticeable depression on that finger, a small brown indent that had remained since childhood. As he touched the depression in the box, he was taken aback by how perfectly it fit. For a moment, his finger seemed to take on a life of its own, almost as though it were drawn to the box. Just as he was about to process this strange sensation, his phone rang, playing a haunting melody. The words he could make out were: "Look at me, maybe."
Absko recoiled in surprise. His heart raced as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Had the box somehow triggered the strange message? Was there a connection between his own life and the puzzle that had appeared before him?
In Japan, India, and Kenya, three people were now entangled in the same enigma, each facing their own personal mysteries and struggles. The carved wooden box had appeared in their lives for reasons unknown, and the question that remained was no longer just about the box—it was about what would happen next.
And perhaps more dangerously, who is watching them?
