The bathroom cleaner rushed in after hearing Ayan's scream.
"What happened, sir?"
He asked, breathing heavily.
But Ayan…
Ayan wasn't even fully there.
He was drowning in flashes of his past, unable to focus on the present.
"Why the hell…? Ughhh…"
He screamed again, clutching his head.
The cleaner's expression softened.
"Sir… if something is wrong, you can talk. Don't scare me like that."
As he helped Ayan up, he finally noticed the back of the shirt.
"Oh… sir. I understand."
He gently made Ayan sit on a nearby chair, then hurried toward the office wardrobe.
Within seconds, he returned with a neatly ironed light-blue shirt.
"Sir, here. Wear this. Give me your shirt, I'll wash it and return it later."
The cleaner was calm, kind, and trained to handle situations without panicking.
"I… I wasn't… sorry… I—"
Ayan tried to speak, but his throat tightened.
His eyes stung.
He slapped his own cheek.
"Okay!! Ayan… it's your project. Don't ruin it,"
he whispered to himself.
He grabbed the shirt, changed quickly, and handed the dirty one to the cleaner.
He walked toward the corridor, bag in one hand, mind in pieces.
He checked the time.
"I'm late… he'll fire me for sure."
He put on his transparent glasses to hide his dark circles.
KNOCK KNOCK
Ayan tapped lightly on the Manager's cabin door.
"Come in,"
Mr. Ahuja said calmly, sipping tea beside his stack of files.
Ayan entered.
"Sorry sir! I know I'm late but—"
"It's fine, Ayan. The meeting is after lunch. Take your time. I know you were exhausted."
For a second, Ayan felt safe.
"Sir, please… just take a glance. I gave everything to this project."
He placed his laptop on the table.
"Hmm, sure,"
Mr. Ahuja said, taking another sip.
Ayan began explaining, nervous but hopeful.
But Mr. Ahuja suddenly placed his cup down.
"It's great. But your speaking quality… it's a problem."
"Sir, I just need some more time—"
Ayan panicked.
Mr. Ahuja pressed the bell.
The peon entered.
"Sir, you called?"
"Yes. Raj, take this boy out. And Mr. Sharma—"
He threw papers toward Ayan.
"You're fired. Collect your termination letter from reception and leave."
"Sir! But—"
Ayan tried to speak.
"I SAID GET OUT!"
Mr. Ahuja's voice thundered.
Ayan swallowed the pain.
"…fine, sir."
He bowed slightly and walked out.
A fake smile covered his face.
His heart was already broken.
As he walked down the hallway, a memory came crashing in—
---
FLASHBACK (From Ayan's POV Only)
He was beside his father's hospital bed.
Ventilator beeping. Air smelling like antiseptic. His father choking on every breath, counting his last minutes.
"Papa… don't leave me,"
Ayan cried, his hands shaking.
Behind him, his mother and younger sister sobbed softly.
His father forced a weak smile.
"I'm not leaving you… just passing my responsibilities to you. You're strong, Ayan. Stronger than me."
Ayan broke.
"No, Papa… I'll make you proud. I'll take care of them. I promise. On your name."
His father exhaled one final breath.
Smile gone.
Body still.
Eyes closed forever.
Ayan's world collapsed.
---
PRESENT
"I failed…
I failed every time I tried…"
Ayan whispered, his smile now completely fake.
He reached reception, took the firing letter without speaking a word.
Outside the office building, he finally let his guard down.
A single tear rolled out.
"It's all my fault…
I'm guilty for everything…"
He sat on the footpath, head in his hands,
crying quietly as the world continued moving without him.