Chapter 1: Demotion and Discovery

After slogging through two relentless months of overtime to secure a major project, I finally decided to take two extra days off during the May Day holiday, using my annual leave. But as soon as I returned, the company slapped me with a demotion for absenteeism.

As I sat hunched on my rickety office chair, ceiling fan spinning tiredly overhead, disbelief crashed over me. My hands—still scented faintly of Dettol from my hospital checkup—curled into fists on my lap. Was I dreaming? For a heartbeat, it felt like one of those rare afternoon naps when Mumbai’s heat pressed heavy against the windowpanes, blurring reality.

Before I could even process the news, my phone vibrated. A WhatsApp message from Amma popped up on the screen: 'Beta, I made your favourite upma today.' The warmth of her words was a sharp contrast to the coldness in this office, and for a second, I wanted nothing more than to run home.

But disbelief turned to anger and I marched straight to HR to argue my case.

As I walked, I could sense colleagues’ curious eyes on my back, their whispers trailing after me like a school of fish. Another WhatsApp pinged in the distance, ignored. My chappals slapped the floor with each step, the corridor smelling faintly of stale samosas and floor cleaner—every step a reminder that this place was more home than my own home. My mind churned with disbelief and rising anger.

The HR manager, Ms. Sharma, caught my approach with a sideways glance, her smile as cold and insincere as leftover chai.

She sat behind her desk, a mug of overbrewed chai abandoned nearby, her dupatta perfectly pinned. Her words came out slow, almost rehearsed, and for a moment I caught the faint scent of Pond’s powder as she turned my way.

"Aajkal company ki halat theek nahi hai. Everyone’s doing overtime, and you—chhutti pe chale gaye? Sales mein aise supervisor ka kya kaam, jo chhutti pe chala jaaye jab sab log extra kaam kar rahe hain? You set the wrong example, Rohan. Isliye, your performance bonus will be cut as a warning to others."

Her tone was sharp, the kind wielded by schoolteachers and housing society secretaries. My mouth fell open in shock; I felt the heat crawl up my neck. Outside, the distant honking of a BEST bus filtered in, and I wished I was anywhere but here.

But I’d gone through the proper approval process. In fact, before the holiday, she herself had suggested I take those two days off.

I looked at her, struggling to keep my voice steady, replaying her earlier words in my mind. I remembered how, just before the holiday, she’d even smiled and said, "Take care of your health, Rohan, you’ve earned it." Now, her words tasted like bitter karela—hard to swallow.

Fury simmered. My hands trembled, and I gripped my old office ID badge, knuckles whitening. I wanted to shout, to call her out in front of the entire office. I recalled my father’s words: 'Gussa mat dikha, beta. Shaant raho, samasya ka hal dhoondo.' But the beginnings of a rant pressed at my lips, every injustice stinging like a slap.

That’s when I saw my replacement—the new intern—waiting outside HR.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Priyansh, the new intern, standing near the door with a sheepish look, fiddling nervously with his ID card. His smile was unsure, almost apologetic. I remembered him asking me for tips during his first week.

I noticed his surname was Sharma, just like the HR manager, and their closeness now seemed suspicious.

It all clicked in my mind, like the tumblers of a lock falling into place. The easy banter between Ms. Sharma and Priyansh, the way she’d ruffled his hair that one time, the unmistakable similarity in the sharpness of their noses and the shape of their smiles.

In that instant, the truth hit me like a punch.

My anger froze, then turned into a dull ache in my stomach. Years of slogging, of missing family dinners and Diwali parties, meant nothing in the face of connections.

I’d been sacrificed to make way for someone with the right 'setting.'

A heavy silence settled, thick as the air before a Mumbai monsoon. The office, with its faded motivational posters and the smell of overused air-freshener, suddenly felt too small, too suffocating.