The Missed Call

Aarav’s laptop glowed like a second sun in his dark room. Emails kept arriving like waves crashing against a shore that never slept. He rubbed his eyes and took another sip of cold coffee. Somewhere beyond the walls of his study, a soft laugh echoed — his 4-year-old son, Aarush, was playing with his toy cars.

“Baba, come play with me!”

“Just five minutes, champ,” Aarav said, not looking up. “I have a client meeting.”

Those five minutes never came.

That night, when he finally shut the laptop, Aarush was already asleep — toy cars scattered like unfulfilled promises. Aarav stood at the doorway, watching his son’s small chest rise and fall, and a quiet ache spread through him.

He remembered his own father — a schoolteacher who earned little but gave a lot. Every evening, his father would take him to the local park, tell stories about the stars, and make him believe that life was more about moments than money.

When had Aarav stopped believing that?

The next day, while presenting a quarterly report, Aarav’s phone lit up: “Aarush Calling.” He silenced it. Again. And again. By the fourth ring, something inside him snapped. He excused himself mid-presentation and stepped outside.

“Baba, today I scored a goal!” Aarush shouted, breathless with joy. “You didn’t come to see!”

For a moment, Aarav couldn’t speak. The guilt was louder than any ringtone. “I’m sorry, champ,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, I’ll be there.”

And this time, he meant it.

The next afternoon, Aarav did something radical — he shut down his laptop at 6 p.m. He ignored the unread emails, the endless notifications, and picked up his son’s football instead. Aarush’s eyes widened when he saw him at the field. “You came, Baba!”

That evening, under a golden sky, father and son played like teammates who had finally found each other again.

Aarav realized that success wasn’t the number of hours he spent at work — it was the number of moments he didn’t miss at home.

Now, every evening is a non-negotiable meeting — scheduled not on Outlook, but in his heart. The agenda is simple: laughter, hugs, and stories before bed.

Because someday, those little hands won’t reach for him anymore.
And no promotion, no bonus, no email will ever bring that time back.