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 his kitchen window.
“Can you see me properly, love?” he asked, adjusting his own camera with the careful concentration of someone still learning the technology.
“Perfect, Dad. How are you feeling today?”
“Oh, much better. The weather’s been lovely, so I managed to get out to the shops.” 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.
Maya glanced at it, frowning slightly. Lonely? Frank had clearly said “lovely.” She’d heard him perfectly. Must be the app’s speech recognition struggling with his slight 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, honestly.
Maya’s attention snapped back to the text. Frank 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?”
Frank looked puzzled. “No, love. Just that we talked about her roses. Why?”
“Nothing, just thought I heard…” Maya shook her head. “Technology glitches. Tell me about your roses—how are they doing?”
“Oh, they’re struggling a bit this year. I think I need to move them to get more sun.” The caption displayed: They’re struggling a bit this year, like me. I think I need to move them to get more sun.
There it was again. That addition—”like me”—that felt so much like something Frank 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 Frank’s face, a strange fascination creeping in. Was the app somehow picking up mumblings she couldn’t hear? Maybe Frank was speaking more quietly than usual, and only the sensitive microphone was catching it.
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,” finding plenty of explanations for 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 your day at work?”
The caption read exactly what he’d said. Normal.
“It was fine, Dad. A bit stressful with the new project deadlines.” She watched the bottom of the screen intently.
“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.
Maya felt almost disappointed. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing.
“Speaking of Mum,” Frank continued, “I was looking through some old photos today. Found that one of her in the garden, remember? From your graduation day.” The caption lagged slightly, then appeared: Found that one of her in the garden. I talk to it sometimes when I’m lonely.
Maya’s breath caught. Frank was still smiling, his voice unchanged, but the admission hung there in stark text. She rewound the call, listening again. Frank had definitely not said anything about talking to the photo or being 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 Frank’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 missed him terribly.
His face appeared on the ClearCall screen, looking 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 herself watching the text box, almost disappointed. Maybe the Frank 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 felt 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, his expression unchanged, but the words felt 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, looking genuinely confused. “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 as she settled into what looked like her kitchen, a cup of tea steaming beside her laptop.
“Just washed it properly for once,” Maya laughed, unconsciously touching her hair. She’d been so focused on the app mystery lately that personal grooming had taken a backseat.
“Well, it suits you. How’s your dad getting on with that new video app you mentioned?”
“Really well, actually. It’s been a game-changer for him.” Maya watched the caption box carefully as Jenny responded.
“That’s wonderful. 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?
“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 cosy. Though honestly, it’s quite cluttered—I can barely see your coffee table under all those books and papers.
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 Maya had always suspected her flat was messier than 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. That new video calling app I set up for him has been amazing. The captions make such a difference.” Maya couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice.
“That’s brilliant. You’ve been so 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 incredible.”
“Oh no, you’ve got that look. What have you figured out now?” Michelle smiled indulgently—the expression of someone used to her sister’s enthusiasm for technical discoveries.
“The app doesn’t just caption what people say. It literally displays people’s unspoken thoughts.” Maya watched Michelle’s face for the reaction.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it literally displays people’s unspoken thoughts. 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 my 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 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, stepping aside. 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 worked from home.
“How’s, um, how’s your father doing?” he asked, still not looking directly at her. “With his hearing problems?”
Maya blinked, surprised. She’d mentioned Frank’s situation to a few colleagues, but she hadn’t realised Clive paid attention to personal conversations.
“He’s doing much better, thanks. The new video calling app has really helped.”
“Yes, the captions work really well, don’t they?” Clive’s stutter was more pronounced than usual. “Very… very clear. Must be nice having those regular chats with him.”
Something in his tone made Maya pause. “Yes, it is.”
“Your show’s quite 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?”
“Nothing. I misspoke. 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 confident mood 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 confident mood from moments before now feeling like a cruel joke. How did Clive know about her calls with Frank? How did he know about the captions, about Frank’s hearing problems? 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’s breathing became shallow. She thought about all those intimate conversations with Frank, 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.
Her hands trembling, Maya pushed herself off the wall and headed toward her desk. She needed answers, and she needed them now.
Maya’s fingers shook as she opened her laptop at her desk. The office around her buzzed with normal afternoon activity, but she felt completely disconnected from it all.
She started with a basic search: “ClearCall app privacy policy.” Pages of dense legal text appeared, but nothing immediately alarming. Standard permissions for microphone access, data processing, user agreements.
Then she tried “ClearCall live streaming” and felt her stomach drop. The first result was a Reddit thread titled “Anyone else watching the ClearCall streams? Some of these are pure gold.”
Maya clicked on it, her heart hammering.
“The father-daughter ones are so wholesome but heartbreaking. There’s this one where the old guy clearly has dementia starting and she has no idea.”
“Link? 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.
With trembling fingers, she searched for the exact phrase. A website appeared: StreamCalls.live. “Real conversations, real people, real emotions—watch live video calls as they happen.”
She clicked through to her own profile page. There was her face in a thumbnail image, mid-conversation with Frank. The viewer count showed 1,247 people currently watching. Below, a chat stream scrolled endlessly:
“She still doesn’t know about the boyfriend’s cheating lol”
“Poor old guy, talking to his dead wife’s photo. So sad but sweet.”
“Wait until she finds out what we can see. This is going to be epic.”
“Been following this family for weeks. The drama is addictive.”
Maya frantically scrolled through days of comments, watching strangers dissect her most private moments, her father’s vulnerabilities, James’s guilt. Every intimate conversation had been entertainment for over a thousand people.
Maya’s hands shook as she opened ClearCall on her phone. She had to warn Frank, had to make him delete the app, even though she knew it was probably too late. The damage was already done.
His familiar face appeared on screen, brightening when he saw her. “Maya! This is a lovely surprise. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until tonight.”
“Dad, listen to me. You need to delete this app. Right now.” Her voice cracked, and she could see Frank’s 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”
“Wait, is she going to tell him about all the private stuff we heard?”
“This family drama just got meta”
“Everything we’ve talked about, Dad. Your thoughts about Mum, your loneliness, my relationship problems. 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.
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