Fired After Victory: My Boss Wants Me Back / Chapter 6: Doors Closed, Doors Opened
Fired After Victory: My Boss Wants Me Back

Fired After Victory: My Boss Wants Me Back

Author: Riya Gupta


Chapter 6: Doors Closed, Doors Opened

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As we were wrapping up, I joked, "Dr. Kabir, you didn’t ask me a single technical question."

I grinned, wiping my hands on a napkin, half-expecting a grilling about algorithms.

Kabir Prasad smiled. "Those projects of yours on Github, with 50,000 stars, already say plenty. I’ve looked at your code. Our team really needs someone like you."

I blushed, not used to such direct praise. Maybe I’d finally found a place where my work actually spoke for itself.

Tch, listen to that.

If only Rajiv Sharma could hear this. But some people only see numbers, never the person behind the code.

CEOs really are on another level.

Kabir seemed like someone who valued people, not just positions. A rare thing these days.

"You flatter me. Just one last question—do you always recruit people by scouting them online?"

I raised an eyebrow, half-joking, half-curious. Would he give me a typical HR answer?

Kabir laughed heartily.

The sound was warm, genuine—no fake smiles here. It felt good.

"Of course not, but this is fate. Us sitting here today is fate, and if we can work together, even better."

He pressed his palms together in a little namaste, as if blessing the moment.

Tch tch, listen to that.

I shook my head, smiling. Maybe some things in life really do happen by chance.

Rajiv Sharma always acted like the company was doing us a favour by paying us, and that we should be grateful for our jobs.

He’d always say, “Paisa mil raha hai toh chup chaap kaam karo.” But here, Kabir made me feel like an equal.

The gap between people is bigger than the gap between people and dogs.

In India, we talk so much about “insaaniyat,” but most managers have forgotten what that means. Here, it was alive and well.

When I joined Aryatech, the team—barely ten people—threw a little welcome party for me.

Someone brought in laddoos from Haldiram, and we all crammed into the meeting room, taking awkward photos for LinkedIn. It felt like a new family, at least for a day.

When I added new colleagues on WhatsApp, a stranger also sent a friend request. I didn’t think much and accepted.

Profile pic: a young face, wide-eyed, probably nervous. Name: Satyam. Sounded like the new guy Rajiv had just hired.

"Manager Rajiv asked me to ask you, why did the image library version suddenly become incompatible?"

No “Hi,” no introduction, just straight to the complaint. Classic newbie panic.

I realised immediately—this was the rookie Rajiv Sharma just hired.

Even the style of the question—no details, no background. Just like how Rajiv would bark orders.

Not only was he rude, but his question had zero context.

I thought of all those nights when I’d had to figure out issues with no help, and felt a pang of sympathy. But still—no manners, yaar.

And now that Aryatech wasn’t paying me, whether the version was compatible or not was none of my business. I’m not obligated to provide after-sales support after being laid off, right?

If you want free service, at least send a dabba of sweets!

Without another word, I deleted him.

A little petty, maybe, but enough was enough. My free tech support days were over.

Two minutes later, Rajiv Sharma called.

His name flashed on my screen—"Manager Sharma Calling"—like a ghost refusing to leave. I hesitated, then picked up.

I thought for a second, then picked up.

Let’s see what new drama he’d cook up.

"Rohan, what’s your problem? You leave the company and immediately cut all ties? I just wanted to ask a simple question—is that necessary? Let me tell you, leave yourself some room. We might cross paths again."

He spoke as if he was giving fatherly advice, not scolding me for not answering some rookie’s query. His ego dripped from every word.

That scolding tone—still acting like I’m his underling.

Old habits die hard. Some bosses never let go.

"Manager Sharma, I really can’t help. You know how complicated the code is—if something goes wrong, you have to check it line by line. There’s no way I can diagnose it remotely."

I kept my voice cool, polite but final. Some doors are best left closed.

For the first time, I felt free—not just from the job, but from the weight of someone else’s mistakes.

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