Vinod had been traveling for weeks, chasing new experiences in remote corners of India. His next stop was a quiet village named Vannappuram, located far from the hustle and bustle of the city. It was the kind of place he often visited, where people lived simply and the air carried the charm of old traditions.
He arrived in the evening, the sun setting behind the hills, casting a golden glow over the village. The fresh air and green landscapes felt refreshing after his long journey. He decided to stay at the Parvathi Lodge, a quaint guest house run by a kind woman named Parvathi, who had lived in the village all her life.
After checking into his room, Vinod plugged in his phone to charge and set off for a tea shop near the Vannappuram Temple. The shop was a small, rustic place where villagers gathered to chat. As Vinod sipped his tea, he overheard some elderly men discussing strange happenings in the village — unexplained disappearances, missing objects, and a growing sense of fear among the villagers. They spoke in hushed tones, making it clear that something sinister was at play.
Though intrigued, Vinod didn’t think much of it and shrugged it off as local gossip. But when he returned to his guest house, he was greeted by an unexpected issue — his phone was unresponsive. The screen was frozen, and no matter how much he tried to restart it, it refused to function. Slightly annoyed, he left his room and walked to a nearby repair shop.
Pavithran, the elderly technician at the shop, checked the phone carefully. After some examination, he assured Vinod that there was nothing wrong with it. “It’s just a glitch. Happens around here sometimes,” Pavithran said dismissively.
Vinod returned to the guest house and plugged in his phone once more. But this time, things only got stranger. The phone began typing by itself, the screen flickering erratically. Messages started appearing, written in a neat, almost deliberate manner.
_"I’m living my life on your phone."_
Vinod stared at the screen, confused and slightly unsettled. He tried to dismiss it as some kind of malfunction, but the phone continued to behave strangely. The more he interacted with it, the more it seemed as though the phone was alive in some way.
After a few moments of silence, the phone displayed another message, this time much longer.
"My name is Mythili. I was a student in this village. I died because of the lies of those who once called me family. Now, my spirit is trapped inside your phone. I need your help."
Vinod’s heart skipped a beat. He thought he was imagining things. Was it an app? A prank? He tried restarting the phone again, but when he opened the settings, the phone continued to type by itself.
Mythili's story began to unfold through the phone's screen.
Mythili’s Story:
Mythili had been a bright, ambitious young woman from Vannappuram. A student at the local college, she dreamed of moving to the city to continue her education and build a life beyond the village. To support her family, she worked part-time at a local textile shop. Life was not easy, but she was content with her small, yet hopeful existence.
However, everything changed one evening when Mythili returned home after a late shift at the shop. She witnessed a dark secret that would cost her everything. As she was walking near the Vannappuram Temple, she saw Vinodan, the village chief, sneaking out of the temple with a large sack. The sack was filled with precious temple jewels and artifacts — stolen from the sacred site.
Terrified, Mythili knew she couldn’t stay silent. She rushed to the village elders, hoping to bring justice. But when she told them what she had seen, they didn’t believe her. Instead of supporting her, the villagers turned against her. They mocked her accusations and called her a liar, dismissing the truth to protect their beloved chief.
But that wasn’t all. In a shocking turn, the very same jewels Mythili had seen Vinodan steal were planted in her own home. The villagers found the jewels and immediately blamed Mythili, accusing her of stealing from the temple to frame the chief.
The village, once her home, became a place of torment. She was shunned by her own people, her family turned against her. No one would listen to her cries for help, and no one cared that she was innocent. Even worse, Vinodan, the chief, threatened her directly.
As the days passed, Mythili became more isolated. She tried desperately to clear her name, but the village had already turned against her. The more she fought, the more she was attacked — not just with words, but physically. The villagers, too afraid to speak out, did nothing.
Vinodan, knowing that Mythili had become a threat to his position, decided to take matters into his own hands. He ordered his men to confront her one night. They dragged her out of her house, dragging her through the dirt as the villagers watched silently. But it was Vinodan who would deliver the final blow.
He approached her as she struggled against the men holding her. "You’ve embarrassed me, Mythili. You’ve tried to ruin everything I’ve worked for," he hissed. His voice was cold, filled with disdain.
Mythili struggled against the men who held her tightly. “The truth will come out!” she shouted defiantly. “You’ll pay for this, Vinodan! You’ll pay for murdering me!”
Without another word, Vinodan pulled out a sharp knife from his cloak. The blade gleamed in the moonlight. He advanced toward her, his cold eyes gleaming with malice.
In a quick motion, he drove the knife into Mythili’s side, her scream echoing through the night. Blood poured from the wound as she collapsed to the ground. She gasped for breath, clutching her side as the life drained from her.
“You were foolish to think the truth would set you free,” Vinodan muttered, watching as her life slowly ebbed away.
With one final shove, he threw her into the river that ran beside the village, the cold water swallowing her lifeless body. The current carried her away, and her body was never recovered.
The villagers, assuming she had drowned, moved on with their lives, none of them realizing the dark truth of what had happened. Vinodan’s power remained unchallenged, and Mythili’s death went unnoticed.
But Mythili’s spirit, now trapped between worlds, refused to move on. Her anger, her injustice, kept her tethered to the world of the living. Somehow, her soul found its way into Vinod’s phone, where it waited — trapped, confused, and full of rage.
Vinod, still struggling to comprehend the strange happenings with his phone, began to understand that Mythili’s spirit was reaching out to him. Her messages became clearer, and the more he conversed with the AI, the more he learned about her life and her tragic death.
Through the phone’s AI, Mythili recounted the details of the night she was murdered. Her words became more desperate. She wanted justice. She wanted revenge. She wanted to make Vinodan, the chief, pay for what he had done to her.
The AI began to guide Vinod step by step, helping him navigate the village’s darkest secrets. He started to learn more about Vinodan’s corruption — how he had used his power to manipulate and control the village for years.
Determined to help Mythili, Vinod promised to expose Vinodan’s crimes. He followed the AI’s instructions, carefully orchestrating a series of robberies in the village, stealing money and valuable items. But the twist was that Vinodav’s house became the new target. The stolen goods were mysteriously placed in Vinodan’s estate, making it seem like he was being framed.
At first, the villagers doubted Vinodan’s innocence, but he quickly denied all accusations, managing to convince them of his innocence. The more Vinod tried to push the truth forward, the more Vinodan seemed to manipulate the narrative, hiding behind his carefully crafted reputation.
Vinod, now fully aware of the depths of the chief’s corruption, confronted Vinodan at last. It was near the same river where Mythili had died, the same place where Vinodan had thrown her body. There, Vinod forced the chief to face the truth.
“I know what you did, Vinodan,” Vinod said, his voice cold. “You murdered Mythili, and you framed her for crimes she never committed.”
Vinodan was visibly shaken. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice faltering. “You don’t know what it’s like to protect this village, to hold everything together.”
“You’ve destroyed everything, including innocent lives. You’ve taken lives to protect your power,” Vinod retorted. “And now you will pay for it.”
In a fit of desperation, Vinodan tried to flee, but his panic got the best of him. He ran toward his car, but as he sped down the narrow road, the brakes failed. The car plunged into the river below.
Vinod stood by the water, watching as the car sank into the murky depths. As the water bubbled above the car, Mythili’s voice whispered through Vinod’s phone.
"Thank you."
With Vinodan’s death, the village of Vannappuram began to heal. The truth came to light, and the villagers slowly realized the extent of the chief’s corruption. They rebuilt their community, honoring the memory of Mythili and restoring her name.
As for Vinod, he continued his travels, but the memory of Vannappuram stayed with him. The whispers of Mythili’s voice, always there when he needed it, reminded him that justice can find its way, even in the most unexpected ways.
And sometimes, even through the smallest of things — a phone, a spirit, a message — the truth will always come to light.