The Last Phone Call -Ekramul Haque Nayan

Monday morning, as the sun climbed lazily over the school’s red brick walls, something happened that cracked his entire sense of reality.

Bappy’s phone rang.
Not unusual—except for the caller ID. His own number flashed across the screen. Same digits, same display picture, same everything.

His first thought was that someone hacked his phone. Or maybe some scam tricked the system. But the longer it buzzed, the harder it became to ignore. His thumb hovered, his pulse racing, and finally he pressed “accept.”

“Hello?”
A voice came through, soft and broken by static, but the sound made his knees weaken. It was his voice. Not a little similar, not just familiar—it was exactly him, only older, with a weight Bappy had never carried.

“Listen carefully,” the voice said, urgent and quick. “Don’t go near the science lab after lunch. There will be a fire. You can stop it, but only if you listen to me.”

Bappy’s heart slammed against his ribs. “What is this? Who are you?”

“You already know,” the voice said, lower now, like confessing a crime. “I’m you. From the future.”

The line went dead.

For a long moment, Bappy just stood there in the middle of the courtyard, students brushing past him with backpacks and chatter. He wanted to laugh it off, call it a prank, but his hands trembled too much.

He forced himself into routine: math, history, a half-hearted conversation with his best friend Samin. But the warning lodged in his head like a splinter. After lunch, he found himself staring at the door of the science lab, every second heavier than the last.

Three students walked in, balancing boxes of chemicals. His stomach knotted. He almost turned away. Almost.

Then the sound of glass clinking too hard snapped his decision. He ran down the hallway, his voice cracking: “Stop! Don’t light anything!”

The teacher inside spun toward him, irritation on her face. But before she could speak, a student slipped. The box hit the floor. A bottle shattered. Liquid hissed across the tiles. A single spark from the Bunsen burner kissed the spill.

The fire leapt up, hungry and furious.

Screams filled the air as smoke crawled toward the ceiling. The teacher shoved everyone out, dragging the coughing students into the corridor. Alarms shrieked. Bappy’s chest heaved as he backed into the wall, watching orange flames lick at the benches he had sat at a hundred times before.

By the time the firefighters arrived, the damage was done, but no one was hurt. The teachers called it luck. The headmaster praised the quick evacuation.

But Bappy knew it wasn’t luck. It was the call.

That night, he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the phone on his desk like it was a live grenade. His mother knocked, asking if he was okay, and he lied, saying he was tired. He tried to sleep, but the moment his eyelids closed, his phone buzzed again.

Same number. His number.

His throat tightened as he picked up.

“You saved them,” the voice said. He could hear his own breath on the other end, ragged and strained. “But it’s not over. Tomorrow—the gym. Something worse will happen. You have to stop it.”

“Why?” Bappy whispered. “Why are you telling me this? Who are you really?”
“I told you,” the voice snapped. “I’m you. And if you don’t listen, people will die. But remember—every time you change something, the future twists tighter. It’s dangerous.”

The line clicked dead.

Bappy lay awake for hours, his thoughts clawing at each other. If he trusted the calls, he might save lives. But what if he was being tricked? What if following the voice led him into something worse? He pressed his palms into his eyes until stars danced in the dark, but no answer came.

The next morning, he walked into school with dread coiled in his gut. The gym looked like it always did: squeaky floor, banners hanging proudly, the faint smell of sweat and varnish. Classes blurred into noise as the clock ticked toward the afternoon assembly.

By lunch, his nerves were frayed raw. He sat with Samin and tried to sound normal, but his leg bounced under the table, his hands restless. When the bell rang for assembly, the whole school marched toward the gym.

Inside, hundreds of students filled the bleachers, laughter echoing against the rafters. Teachers tried to settle the crowd. Bappy scanned the room desperately, waiting for disaster.

Minutes crawled by. Nothing happened.

Then he noticed the stage lights—large, heavy spotlights bolted high above. One of them flickered. The screws looked loose, the metal shivering as the crowd stomped their feet. His chest clenched.

Without thinking, he bolted forward, shoving past students and leaping onto the stage. The principal barked at him, furious, but Bappy didn’t hear. He looked up just as the spotlight gave a groan and tore free.

It crashed to the floor where the front row had been standing only seconds ago.

Screams erupted. Teachers rushed forward, corralling students. The assembly dissolved into chaos. No one was hurt—but they could have been.

And once again, Bappy stood in the middle of it all, shaking, while everyone stared.
That night, the call came again.

This time, the voice was harsher, almost angry. “You see? You needed me. You’ll always need me. But it’s not just the school anymore, Bappy. It’s you. You’re the one in danger now.”

“What do you mean?” Bappy whispered, his throat dry.

“You think you can outsmart fate, but every warning comes with a cost. Sooner or later, the disasters won’t be accidents. They’ll be aimed at you.”

The silence that followed was heavier than words. Riyan sat frozen, clutching the phone as if letting go would mean losing himself.

He thought of the fire, the falling light, the narrow escapes. He thought of the voice—his voice—guiding him, manipulating him. He had saved lives, yes, but with every warning the line between trust and fear blurred.

He pressed the phone to his ear one last time. “If you really are me,” he said, steady now, “then tell me this—what happens if I stop listening?”

For the first time, the voice hesitated. Then it whispered, “Then you’ll find out why I called.”

The line went dead.

Bappy sat in the darkness, his reflection staring back from the black screen of the phone. Same face. Same number. Same voice.

The next call could come anytime. Tomorrow. Next week. Maybe in the middle of class.

But one thing was certain.

It would always be his number calling.

And one day, he’d have to decide whether to answer.