The Reprogramming Sticker

The sun’s rays gently illuminated Ayaan’s modest bedroom through the thin, white curtains, casting a soft, warm glow. The room, though neatly organised, felt stiflingly small and confining. Ayaan, 19, lay under his simple blanket, his thoughts already heavy with the anticipation of another gruelling day. The faint scent of incense from the night before lingered in the air, mixing with the crisp morning freshness.

He reluctantly threw off the covers, his feet meeting the cool, tiled floor as he stood up. Dressed in a plain, dark shirt and loose trousers, his attire reflected his modest lifestyle and the oppressive weight of his daily responsibilities. He moved mechanically, his steps betraying a deep-seated weariness.

Descending the narrow, wooden staircase, Ayaan’s gaze fell on the familiar sight of his home. The walls, adorned with family photos and traditional artwork from the middle east his father had gotten from his frequent work trips, seemed to close in on him, amplifying the weight of his mundane chores. The small kitchen was already alive with sounds of exertion as Fatima, his step-mother carried out her morning workout.

Fatima, 26, was dressed in a modest yet functional workout outfit: a long-sleeved, navy blue top and matching leggings, paired with a loose hijab. Her attire was practical, providing ample coverage while still allowing for freedom of movement. As she performed her exercises, her movements were precise and controlled, the sweat glistening on her forehead betraying the intensity of her routine. She knew Ayaan’s father had married her for her looks and she wasn’t going to disappoint him.

Ayaan approached the kitchen, where a list of chores was pinned to the refrigerator with a magnet. The list, neatly typed and detailed, included tasks ranging from vacuuming and dusting to scrubbing the bathroom tiles. He glanced at it with a mixture of frustration and resignation, the pressure of his duties settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Make sure the kitchen is spotless before breakfast, Ayaan,” his stepmother’s voice cut through the morning silence. It was sharp and commanding, devoid of any warmth.

“Yes, Fatima,” Ayaan replied, his voice flat and resigned. He had long since learned to hide his feelings, masking his inner turmoil with a facade of compliance. He turned towards the sink, where a pile of dirty dishes awaited him. The clinking of plates and the hissing of running water filled the room, a backdrop to his routine.

A short while later, Leila, his 20-year-old sister, entered the kitchen. Dressed in a sleek tennis outfit, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, she moved with the confidence of a young athlete. Her presence was marked by a casual indifference as she glanced at Ayaan.

“Don’t forget to vacuum my room before you leave for school, dipshit” Leila said, her tone authoritative but casual. “And make sure you do it properly this time.”

Ayaan’s heart sank as he nodded. “Sure, Leila.” His voice carried a hint of **** cheerfulness, a stark contrast to the frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. He knew better than to challenge her; any sign of dissent would only lead to further reprimand from both Fatima and Leila.

Leila grabbed an orange, barely acknowledging Ayaan as she moved through the kitchen. She headed for the door, leaving Ayaan alone with his chores. He watched her go, the sense of injustice he felt towards her and Fatima deepening with each passing day.

Ayaan’s thoughts wandered as he cleaned, imagining scenarios where he could escape his current reality. He dreamt of a life where he was treated with respect and consideration, a life free from the relentless cycle of chores and cold treatment. These daydreams provided a brief respite from his harsh reality, a fleeting glimpse of hope amidst his daily struggles.

The sound of the doorbell sliced through the quiet house, a jarring contrast to the otherwise peaceful morning. Ayaan’s heart quickened with anticipation as he wiped his soapy hands on a kitchen towel and hurried to the door. Zara’s visits were a rare and much-needed escape from his daily struggles.

He opened the door to find Zara standing on the doorstep, her presence a welcome beacon of warmth. Her reddish black hair cascaded in soft waves around her face, and her green eyes sparkled with both affection and curiosity. Zara wore a modest yet stylish ensemble: a fitted emerald green blouse paired with a flowing skirt that fell gracefully to her ankles, blending elegance with cultural respect.

“Ayaan!” Zara’s voice was a burst of warmth as she enveloped him in a quick but sincere hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

Ayaan’s spirits lifted as he returned the hug, feeling a rare moment of comfort. “I’ve missed you too, Zara. Please, come in.”

As Zara entered the house, her eyes took in the familiar surroundings. The modest living room, adorned with family photos and traditional decorations, bore the marks of daily wear. Fatima was engaged in her morning workout, her focus unwavering as she executed each exercise with precise control.

Zara and Ayaan settled on the couch, Zara’s gaze occasionally drifting towards Fatima with a look of concern. “Is she still being difficult?” Zara’s voice was low and sympathetic.

Ayaan nodded, his face reflecting a mix of frustration and resignation. “It’s the same every day. She never gives me a moment’s peace.”

Zara’s expression turned serious as she reached into her bag and produced a small, black square sticker. “Well, I have something that might change things.”

Ayaan’s curiosity was piqued as he watched Zara hold up the sticker. It was about the size of a postage stamp, made of a sleek, glossy material that seemed almost futuristic. “What is it?” he asked, a mix of intrigue and anticipation in his voice.

“This,” Zara said, her eyes gleaming with excitement, “is a nanobot sticker I’ve been working on. It can take over a person’s brain and turn them into a robot. You can give them simple commands or more complex instructions, and they’ll follow them precisely.”

Ayaan’s eyes widened in astonishment. “You invented this?”

Zara nodded proudly. “Yes, I thought it might be useful. And it seems like now is the perfect time to test it.”