Private Messaging

Maya settled into her evening routine, laptop positioned perfectly on the coffee table, the new ClearCall app already loaded. Frank's face appeared on screen, his hearing aids catching the light from the kitchen window.

"Can you see me properly, love?" he asked, adjusting his own camera with the concentration of someone still learning the technology.

"Great, Dad. How are you feeling today?"

"Oh, much better. The weather's been lovely, so I managed to get out to the shops this morning." The caption box at the bottom of her screen flickered to life: The weather's been lonely, so I managed to get out to the shops this morning.

Maya stared at it. Lonely? Dad had clearly said "lovely." She'd heard him perfectly. Must be the app's speech recognition struggling with his accent.

"That's wonderful. Did you see anyone you know?"

"I bumped into Mrs Patterson from next door. We had a nice chat about her garden." The captions read: I bumped into Mrs Patterson from next door. We had a nice chat. She looks terrible, to be honest.

Maya's attention snapped back to the text. Dad was still smiling, his tone unchanged, but she was certain he hadn't said anything about Mrs Patterson looking terrible. She studied his face—the same gentle expression he always wore when talking about the neighbours.

"Dad, did you say something about Mrs Patterson looking... unwell?"

He chuckled. "No, love. Just that we talked about her roses. Is it a bad line?"

"No, I just thought I heard..." Maya shook her head. "Just technology glitches. Tell me about your roses—how are they doing?"

"Oh, they're struggling a bit this year. I think they need more sunlight." The caption displayed: They're struggling a bit this year, like me. I think they need more sunlight.

There it was again. That addition—"like me"—that felt so much like something Dad might think but would never say aloud, especially not to her. He'd always been careful not to worry her with his own struggles.

Maya found herself watching the captions more closely than her father's face, a strange fascination creeping in. Was the app somehow picking up mumblings she couldn't hear? Was Dad speaking more quietly than usual? Maybe the app was picking up more than the mic.

***

Maya couldn't shake the feeling from the previous night's call. She'd spent her morning coffee break googling "video caption errors" and "speech recognition glitches." There were plenty of explanations as to why automated systems might add or substitute words. Still, something nagged at her.

That evening, she called Frank again, this time paying closer attention to both his voice and the captions from the start.

"Hello, sweetheart. How was work?"

The caption read exactly what he'd said. Normal.

"Fine, Dad. Y'know, stressful. Deadlines and things." She peered at the bottom of the screen.

"I'm sorry to hear that. You work too hard, just like your mother did." Again, the captions matched perfectly. You work too hard, just like your mother did.

An odd mix of relief and disappointment. Maybe she'd imagined the whole thing.

"Speaking of Mum," Frank continued, "I was looking through some old photos today. I found that one of her in the garden, remember? From your graduation day." The caption lagged slightly, then appeared: I found that one of her in the garden. I talk to it sometimes when I'm lonely.

Maya's breath caught. Dad was still smiling, his voice unchanged, but the admission hung there in stark text. She rewound the call, listening again. He had definitely not mentioned talking to the photo or anything about feeling lonely. His actual words had been cheerful, nostalgic.

"That's lovely, Dad. I remember that photo. She looked so happy."

"She was proud of you that day. We both were." The captions read: She was proud of you that day. I wonder what she'd think of how I've turned out.

This time Maya was certain! The melancholy addition was nowhere in Dad's voice, but it felt so authentically him—the kind of self-doubt he'd never burden her with but might privately harbour.

What was this app actually picking up?

***

Maya stared at her phone for a long moment before calling James. He'd been away on the Manchester project for three weeks now, and they'd planned to spend the entire weekend together when he got back on Friday. She smiled as she thought of his return.

James' face appeared on the ClearCall screen, tired but smiling. "Hey, you. Perfect timing—just finished dinner."

"You look exhausted," she said, settling back into her sofa. "How's the hotel food?"

"Awful as expected. I've been living on sandwiches and coffee." The caption appeared normally: Awful as expected. I've been living on sandwiches and coffee.

Maya found her focus was drawn to the text box. But maybe the Dad incidents had been genuine glitches after all.

"Only two more days though," James continued, "then I'm all yours for the weekend. I can't wait." The captions read: Only two more days though, then I'm all yours for the weekend. I should tell her about Lisa but I don't want to ruin everything.

Maya's heart stopped. Lisa? James was still talking, his expression unchanged, but the words on screen were like ice water.

"I was thinking we could try that new restaurant in town," he was saying. "The one you mentioned last month?" Caption: The one you mentioned last month. I shouldn't have let Lisa kiss me after drinks. It was just a stupid moment.

Maya's heart stopped. A kiss? James was still talking, expression unchanged, his words like a slap.

"We could go Saturday evening if you like?" Caption: We could go Saturday evening if you like? It didn't mean anything, but Maya would be so hurt if she knew.

"James." Maya's voice came out strange. "Who's Lisa?"

He blinked, confusion—or was it shock?—smeared across his face. "Lisa? Which Lisa?"

"You just... I thought you mentioned someone called Lisa."

"No, I don't think so. There's a Lisa from accounting on the project team, but we barely interact. Why?"

Maya stared at the screen, her earlier excitement about the app's strange abilities now curdling into something sick and cold. The captions had stopped appearing altogether, as if the app could sense her distress.

"Nothing. Just thought I heard... never mind."

***

Maya had been looking forward to her weekly catch-up with Jenny all day. Working from home meant these video calls were her main social contact during the week, and Jenny's relentless positivity always lifted her spirits.

"Maya! You look great—have you done something different with your hair?" Jenny's bright smile filled the screen, a cup of tea steaming beside her laptop.

"Just washed it properly for once," Maya laughed, unconsciously touching her fringe. She'd been so focused on the app mystery lately that her appearance had taken a backseat.

"Well, it suits you. How's your dad getting on with that new video app thing?"

"Really well, actually. It's been a game-changer for him." Maya watched the caption box carefully as Jenny responded.

"Aww, great. Technology can be such a blessing for people with hearing difficulties." The captions appeared normally, matching Jenny's words exactly.

Maya felt a flicker of disappointment. Maybe the strange additions only happened with family members?

"Anyway, I've been thinking about redecorating," Maya said, gesturing vaguely at the room behind her. "This place is starting to feel a bit chaotic."

"Oh, don't be silly! Your flat always feels so lived-in and cosy. Very you." Jenny's tone was warm and encouraging, but the captions read: Your flat always feels so lived-in and cosy. Though honestly, it's quite cluttered—I can barely see your coffee table under all that stuff.

Maya had to suppress a grin. There it was again! And this time, she wasn't hurt or confused—she was fascinated. Jenny's polite deflection was exactly the kind of thing friends did, and anyway Maya was well aware that her flat was messier than anything Jenny's pristine minimalism could tolerate.

"You're too kind," Maya said, watching the text box intently. This was incredible!

***

The café buzzed with its usual Wednesday afternoon crowd as Maya slid into the booth opposite Michelle, who was already halfway through what looked like her second latte.

"Sorry I'm late—got caught up in a work call," Maya said, shrugging off her jacket.

"No worries. I ordered you the usual." Michelle pushed a cappuccino across the table. "How's Dad this week?"

"Actually, really good. I set that new video calling app up for him and it's been… it's been amazing! The captions make such a difference." Maya was aware of the excitement in her voice.

"That's brilliant. I know you've been worried about him lately."

Maya leaned forward, lowering her voice slightly. "Michelle, you're not going to believe what I've discovered about this app. It's unreal!"

"Oh no, you've got that look. What have you figured out now?" Michelle smiled indulgently—the expression of someone quite used to her sister's enthusiasm for technical discoveries.

"The app… it doesn't just caption what people say. It literally displays what they're thinking!" Maya watched Michelle's face for the reaction.

"What do you mean, Maya?"

"I mean it literally displays what they're thinking," she repeated, emphasising the last three words. Things they think but don't say out loud." Maya's voice dropped to an excited whisper. "I tested it with Jenny yesterday. She complimented me on the flat, called it 'cosy,' but the captions showed she actually thinks it's cluttered and messy."

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"Are you kidding? It's fascinating! Do you know what this means? I can see what people really think about everything. Dad's been having thoughts he'd never share with me—lonely thoughts, sad thoughts about Mum. And James..." Maya paused, deciding not to go down that path. "It's like having a superpower."

***

Maya practically bounced down the corridor toward the break room, still riding the high from her coffee with Michelle. The discovery felt even more exciting now that she'd shared it. Maybe she'd test the app with her brother Jeff next, or even try it during the team meeting tomorrow—

"Oh! Sorry, Maya!"

She'd nearly collided with Clive as he emerged from the supply room, his arms full of printer paper. He fumbled with the boxes, his face already flushing red.

"No problem," Maya said automatically, recoiling slightly. Clive had always made her vaguely uncomfortable—the way he never quite made eye contact but somehow always seemed to be watching her, especially during video calls when she was working from home.

"How's, um, how's your f-father doing?" he asked, still not looking directly at her. "With his hearing p-problems?"

Maya blinked, surprised. She'd mentioned Dad's situation to a few colleagues, but hadn't realised Clive paid attention to personal conversations.

"He's… doing much better, thanks. The ClearCall app has really helped." She stepped back, becoming aware that she was saying more than she wanted to.

"Yes, the c-c-captions work really well, d-don't they?" Clive's stutter was more pronounced than usual. "Very... very c-clear. Must be nice having those regular ch-chats with him."

Something in his tone made Maya pause. "Yes… it is."

"Your show's quite p-p-popular, actually." The words tumbled out before Clive seemed to realise what he'd said. His face went from red to pale in seconds. "I mean... I didn't mean..."

Maya felt the corridor tilt around her. "My what?"

"N-nothing. I mis-spoke. I have to..." Clive hurried away, leaving Maya standing frozen among scattered sheets of printer paper.

Your show's quite popular.

The words echoed in her head as her confidence crumbled to dust.

***

Maya stood in the empty corridor for several minutes, staring at the scattered printer paper around her feet. Her mind felt like it was moving through treacle, trying to process what Clive had just said.

Your show's quite popular.

Show. He'd said show. Not calls, not conversations. Show.

She pressed her back against the wall, her upbeat mood from just moments earlier now a cruel joke. How did Clive know about her calls with Dad? How did he know about the captions, about Dad's hearing problems? Sure, she'd mentioned her father's situation briefly in team meetings, but the specifics...

A cold realisation crept up her spine. Clive had mentioned the captions working really well and being very clear. How could he possibly know that unless—

Unless he'd seen them!

Maya felt her breathing become shallow. She thought about all those intimate conversations with Dad, the moments she'd treasured as private glimpses into her father's hidden thoughts. The sadness about her mother. His loneliness.

And James. Oh God, James and the revelation about Lisa!

Hands trembling, Maya pushed herself away from the wall and strode awkwardly to her desk. She needed answers, and she needed them now.

***

Maya's fingers shook as she opened her laptop, disconnected from the usual office buzz around her.

She started with a basic search: "ClearCall app privacy policy." Pages of dense legal text, but nothing immediately alarming. Standard permissions for microphone access, data processing, user agreements.

She tried "ClearCall live streaming" … and her stomach dropped. The top result was a Reddit thread: "Anyone else watching the ClearCall streams? Pure gold!"

Maya clicked on it, heart hammering.

"The father-daughter ones are wholesome but so heartbreaking. There's this one where the old guy clearly has dementia starting and she has no idea"

"Link pls? I love the family drama ones"

"Can't link directly but search for 'Maya_F_London'—she's on most evenings UK time"

Maya's vision blurred. Maya_F_London. Her own name, her own city, turned into a username for strangers' entertainment.

Fingers faltering, she typed the phrase. A website: StreamCalls.live. "Real conversations, real people, real emotions. Watch live video calls as they happen."

She clicked through to her own profile page. There she was in a thumbnail image, mid-conversation with Dad. The viewer count showed 1,247 people currently watching. A small notice at the bottom read: "Enhanced captions - AI adds emotional subtext for entertainment value only." Below, a chat stream scrolled endlessly:

"She still doesn't know whether the boyfriend's cheating or not lol"

"Spoiler... he's not"

"She thinks Frank's losing his marbles. So sad but so so sweet."

"Been following for weeks. This is epic!"

Maya frantically scrolled through days' worth of comments, watching strangers dissect her most private moments. Every intimate conversation had been entertainment for over a thousand people. Her head swam in confusion. What was going on with Dad? With James?

***

Maya shook as she opened ClearCall on her phone. She had to warn Dad, had to make him delete the app, even though she knew it was probably too late. The damage was already done.

His face appeared, brightening when he saw her. "Maya! This is a lovely surprise. I wasn't expecting to hear from you until tonight."

"Dad, listen. Delete this app. Right now!" Her voice cracked, and she could see his expression shift to concern.

"What's wrong, love? You look upset."

On her laptop screen, the chat was exploding:

"OMG she's calling him! She knows!"

"This is amazing—live reaction time"

"She's crying. Poor thing just found out"

"Anyone recording this? This is gold"

"Dad, people have been watching us. Strangers. They've been watching our conversations and commenting on them." Maya wiped her eyes, trying to stay composed. "The app has been streaming us live."

Frank's face went pale. "Watching us? What do you mean?"

"He looks so confused. Feel bad for the old guy"

"Imagine how it's gonna go with the boyfriend"

"This family drama just got meta"

"Everything we've talked about, Dad. All our conversations, our family moments, everything about our lives. It's all been public." Maya watched her father's dignity crumble in real-time while strangers typed their commentary.

"She's destroying him. This is brutal to watch"

"Can't look away though"

"Someone get popcorn, this is better than Netflix"

Frank sat in silence for a long moment, and Maya realised with horror that even this conversation—this moment of trying to protect him—was entertainment for over a thousand people watching their family fall apart.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," she whispered, as the comments continued to scroll, turning their pain into content.