Online Servitude

The ceiling fan above Adwait’s hostel bed made a strange clicking sound every few seconds.

It was one of those sounds that became invisible after a while—the kind you stopped noticing until the room went quiet. But the room was never really quiet.

Hostel rooms had their own language.

The shouting from the corridor. The sound of slippers dragging across the floor. Someone laughing loudly at a joke that nobody else understood. The smell of instant noodles, cheap deodorant, and damp clothes hanging near the window. The constant background noise of young men trying to figure out who they were supposed to become.

Adwait sat on the edge of his bed, his laptop balanced on his knees, pretending to study.

Pretending was something he had become good at.

At eighteen, he was in his first year of college, away from home for the first time. Everyone around him seemed confident. His roommates spoke loudly about their plans, their ambitions, their experiences. They acted like they had everything figured out.

Adwait didn’t.

He was quieter than most people. Not because he disliked others, but because he spent a lot of time observing. He noticed things people ignored—the way someone’s smile changed when they were lying, the way confidence was often just a mask people wore.

His friends called him “professor” because he overthought everything.

“Bro, you’re staring at that screen like it’s going to reveal the secrets of the universe,” his roommate Rohan joked.

Adwait looked up.

“Maybe it will.”

Rohan laughed.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

The room exploded into conversation again. Someone was playing music from their phone. Someone else was arguing about a cricket match. A half-finished packet of chips sat on the table between notebooks and chargers.

It was an ordinary night.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Later, when everyone had settled down, Adwait opened his phone and checked his notifications.

Among the usual messages and random posts was a reply on X.

The account name caught his attention.

Peter Kovács.

The profile picture showed a man somewhere in Europe, standing confidently in a city street. The posts were different from the people Adwait usually followed—more thoughtful, more direct. Peter had a way of writing that made simple sentences feel heavier.

Their first interaction had been small.

A comment.

A disagreement.

A joke.

Nothing important.

But then came another message.

And another.

Soon, their conversations became a strange routine.

They talked about everything.

Movies.

Music.

Culture.

Life.

The differences between India and Hungary fascinated both of them. Peter was thirty-three, older and more experienced, while Adwait was still trying to understand what kind of person he wanted to become.

Peter noticed that.

“You think too much,” Peter wrote one night.

Adwait smiled at the message.

“Is that bad?”

“No,” Peter replied. “Most people don’t think enough.”

That answer stayed in Adwait’s mind.

There was something unusual about talking to someone who wasn’t trying to impress him. Someone who didn’t know his family, his college reputation, or the version of himself he showed everyone else.

Online, he could be different.

A few weeks later, Peter invited him to a Discord server where he spent time talking with people from different countries.

At first, Adwait felt awkward.

Everyone seemed to know each other already. Their jokes moved too fast. Their conversations jumped between topics he barely understood.

Then someone noticed his username.

“New guy,” one person wrote.

“Everyone be nice.”

Peter replied:

“Don’t worry. He can handle it.”

That became the beginning of a joke.

Because Adwait made one mistake during a conversation and everyone laughed.

Not cruelly.

Just because it was funny.

Someone typed:

“Alright, Shitface has arrived.”

Adwait stared at the screen.

“Seriously?”

Peter responded:

“Congratulations. You have a nickname now.”

“I hate it.”

“No, you don’t.”

Adwait rolled his eyes.

The strange thing was…

Peter was right.

He didn’t hate it.

The nickname became a reminder that he belonged there. That people noticed when he entered the chat. That he wasn’t just another invisible person behind a screen.

Days turned into weeks.

The conversations became longer.

Adwait found himself waiting for Peter’s messages.

Sometimes they talked late into the night while the hostel slowly became silent around him. The world outside his window disappeared, replaced by a glowing screen and a voice from thousands of kilometers away.

But Adwait also noticed something else.

Peter had a strong personality.

He spoke with certainty. He challenged Adwait’s opinions. He pushed him to explain himself instead of hiding behind vague answers.

“You always leave yourself an escape route,” Peter once said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you never fully say what you think.”

Adwait looked at the message for a long time.

Because it was true.

Nobody at college knew him the way Peter did.

Not really.

His friends knew his jokes. His classmates knew his grades. His family knew the version of him that came home during holidays.

But Peter knew his doubts.

His fears.

The thoughts he never said out loud.

And that was both exciting and dangerous.

Because the internet could create strange connections.

A person could feel close to someone they had never met.

A stranger could become important.

A simple conversation could slowly become something impossible to ignore.

One night, sitting alone in his hostel room while rain tapped against the window, Adwait opened Discord.

Peter was online.

A message appeared.

Peter:

“You’re awake late again.”

Adwait:

“You noticed?”

Peter:

“I notice more than you think.”

Adwait smiled.

He didn’t know where this connection would lead.

He didn’t know whether it would change him or simply become another chapter of his college life.

But he knew one thing.

The name “Shitface” had started as a joke.

And somehow, without realizing it, Adwait had stepped into a world where a stranger thousands of kilometers away was becoming someone he couldn’t ignore.

The story had only just begun.