Ch2 Part1: What is in the Box?

 Ch2 Part1: What is in the Box?

Written by Kavya and Concept by Sidhant First go to previous blogs if you have not already....

It was October—the time of year that stirred a peculiar blend of excitement and dread in the heart of Shree. For the past three years, she had purposely avoided the annual festival at IIT Delhi. The event was revered by every student, a heady mix of pro nights, informal games, literary debates, and quizzes. It was a carnival of chaos, an ocean of crowds, and yet, for Shree, it had been nothing but a reminder of her isolation. An introvert by nature, she had long preferred the solace of her own space, until this year.

This year, however, was different. This year, something tugged at her—an unspoken promise, a challenge she could no longer ignore. She had spent countless hours honing her skills as a hacker. The thrill of cracking firewalls, of outwitting sophisticated security systems, had become a passion, a quiet obsession. And now, the annual fest had introduced a new event—the hacking competition—and for the first time in years, Shree was determined to face the crowd, the noise, and the challenge.

It was the third day of the four-day long fest when her eyes fell upon a peculiar object sitting innocently on her table: a small, carved wooden box. To anyone else, the random numbers etched upon it—seemingly a jumble of 1s and 0s—would have appeared to be little more than decorative design. But Shree knew better. The moment her gaze rested upon it, her heart skipped a beat. The binary code: 1000100, 1000101, 1010110—she recognized it instantly. It was ASCII, the ancient language of the machine. Translated, it read: D, E, V—her brother's name.

Shree's breath caught in her throat. The box, once a mere curiosity, had now become something much more—something personal. The fact that the name DEV was carved into it meant only one thing: this box was meant for her. And no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, there was no denying the significance of it. She opened the box with trembling hands, careful not to damage the delicate carving. Inside, nestled among soft velvet padding, were six small wooden blocks. Each one bore a single letter, but the words that emerged when she rearranged them were clear: HACK ME.

"What am I supposed to hack?" she muttered to herself, uncertainty creeping into her mind. As she pondered the meaning of the message, her mother's voice rang out from the kitchen, pulling her from her reverie.

Shree quickly shut the box, hiding it beneath a cloth as she dashed out of her room. Her mother was busy preparing laddu, her favorite sweet, as a tradition for the fest. Her mother’s eyes lit up as she handed Shree the first laddu of the day, eager for her opinion. "Taste it, my dear. Let me know if I need to add a little more sweetness," she said.

Shree took the laddu, savoring the familiar taste, and smiled. "It's perfect, as always, Mother," she said, quickly leaving the remainder on the plate. Her mother raised an eyebrow, puzzled by Shree’s unusually swift departure. She had never left a laddu half-eaten, especially not when it was besan ka laddu, her favorite. But Shree had no time to dwell on that; her mind was consumed with the mystery of the box.

She returned to her room, hurriedly retrieving the box and placing it back on the table. This time, as she turned the blocks over, the block marked with "E" flipped to reveal the text .com beneath it. The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. The email address she had been searching for—findmein@mail.com—was the key. This was not some random puzzle—it was a call for her to hack.

Without wasting a moment, Shree sat down at her computer, heart pounding in anticipation. She began the usual process, trying the typical password recovery methods. But, as she stared at the email address, a sudden inspiration struck her. The binary code on the box couldn’t be a coincidence. If she converted it into decimal—D, E, V—she would get 68, 69, 86. Could the password be that simple?

She typed in 686986, and to her astonishment, the screen blinked, and she was in.

The inbox was empty—no sent, no received, no important emails. But there, nestled in the spam folder, was a message: “I am here to help you”, accompanied by two attachments. The first was a photograph album—images of her and her brother, Dev, when they were children. The nostalgia hit her hard, and for a moment, tears blurred her vision. This was her brother, the one who had vanished without a trace.

But before the darkness of despair could overtake her, she remembered the second attachment. Perhaps it held the clue she needed. It was password-protected, and she spent hours trying to unlock it.

At 1 a.m., her mother knocked on the door, reminding her to sleep. "Shree, go to bed now," she said sternly.

Shree lay in bed, her mind racing. She had been hacking into databases, helping families find missing people through her “locate” portal, but this—this was different. This was personal. This was about Dev. Nothing else mattered.

I know you want to know more wait for the next post....