Kabir sank to the glossy corporate floor. His expensive suit bunched around him. He didn’t cry. He simply stared at the call log. Dad (Missed). Dad (Missed). Dad (Missed). Dad (Missed). The terrifying truth arrived with surgical clarity: You can miss a deadline and reschedule. You can miss a flight and rebook. But you cannot return a missed call to the dead. The “busy” trap—the modern delusion—collapsed in one second. Work had felt urgent. Family had felt postponable. Death reversed the hierarchy. Kabir’s mind replayed his own rationalizations like a courtroom transcript: I’ll call in twenty minutes. I can’t lose momentum. This meeting decides our future. And now the future had arrived—without his father in it. The silence in the phone became the silence of his life. Not the expensive silence of double-glazed windows. A different silence. One that no amount of funding could insulate. One that would ring forever—without vibrating.