Even though the city lights shone brightly every night, Arif's room felt strangely dark. Not because the lights were off, but because his eyes were always fixed on his phone screen. Every morning began the same way—checking notifications. Who liked his post, who commented, who left him on "seen."
Arif lived in the same house as his parents. His mother often said,
"Son, sit with me for a while and talk."
Arif would reply,
"Sure, Mom. Just a minute."
But that "minute" never came.
One evening, Arif returned home late from work. As he entered the house, he saw his mother sitting quietly, tears in her eyes. His father looked at him and said softly,
"Today was your mother's birthday."
Arif froze. He had wished hundreds of people on social media, yet he had forgotten his own mother's birthday.
That night, Arif turned off his phone. For the first time in a long while, he sat beside his mother. They talked—about many things. They laughed. They cried. And Arif realized something deeply painful:
He was connected to the whole world online, but completely alone in real life.
The next day, he went back to his routine. He used his phone again—but differently. He learned to give time to people. He finally understood that there is a real society beyond the screen.
Because society doesn't change through technology—
it changes through how humans use it.