We heard no apology from him for being late, just a deep sigh, like the world had inconvenienced him by making him come to work. He looked around, read the room, and immediately began inserting himself in a conversation he had not heard.

“No, no,” he said, waving a hand. “I don’t think that is right.”

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?”

He laughed it off, pretending to not have heard it while looking around to find his next victim.

This was his gift. His opinions arrived fully formed, but comically incorrect. To the point where it seemed like he was being sarcastic or ironic. 

But no, he had a hidden talent of making everything about himself and gaining the attention of the room in the worst ways possible. I just wished he kept this talent hidden. He spoke in conclusions, never questions. The kind of man who didn’t learn things, he decided them.

As the evening went on, Anis kept getting unbearable. Simon Googled something regarding his phone which Anis saw through the corner of this eye. He scoffed saying Google is notorious for generating fake results and Simon should just listen to him. Simon kept cool and politely told Anis to not bother him. Anis smiled gently, like a disappointed teacher. “You’re missing the bigger picture,” he’d say, while clearly having lost the picture, the frame, and the wall it hung on. The more wrong he was, the calmer he became. Serenity through delusion.

Then came the moment. The big one.

After lunch my co-workers and Anis walked past a construction site sealed off with aggressive warning signs. Bright colors. Bold letters. Words like DANGER, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, and DO NOT ENTER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES; which Anis, took more like a personal challenge.

“This is all exaggerated,” he said, already stepping toward the barrier.
We all told him to stop, yelling that it wasn’t safe. He laughed, a laugh that was overconfident and arrogant.

“I know how these things work.”

No one knew what he meant by things, but he said it with such certainty and poise that for a brief second, reality itself seemed unsure. He ducked under the barrier, gesturing confidently, explaining loudly how rules were “mostly for liability” so that workers don’t sue the company.

“Okay Mike Ross, we get it you watched Suits but you can’t bluff your way into everything now can you?” said Mila, this girl Anis had a crush on.

Pretty sure that instigated him even more and he started walking backwards, like he was trying to impress Mila. If I cringed any harder, I’d turn into a fossil.

But it turns out, warning signs are there for a reason.

The ground beneath him made a sound, a soft, traitorous crack. The kind of sound that makes cartoon characters freeze on spot before they fall down into the abyss.

Anis froze. Still smiling and talking, but with a cloud of nervousness around his head.

“No, relax,” he said. “This surface is reinforced. They always reinforce it.”

No one moved. No one laughed. Everyone had their hearts in their throats, waiting for Anis to take another step.

He took another step backward.

Then another.

And suddenly his confidence had nowhere to stand.

The barrier he had ducked under snapped back into place as the ground gave way beneath him, cutting off his exit to the safe zone. His arms flailed, and he let out a scream that felt slowed down.

“No, wait—this isn’t—hold on—”

The site felt foggy, but it was the dust and dirt. And underneath it all was Anis, somewhere. Maybe trying to argue with the angel of death that it wasn’t his time yet. By the time the workers came running, it was already over.

A few weeks after the funeral, HR sent an email reminding everyone about workplace safety and “respecting restricted areas.” Someone would joke about adding “listening to others” to the company handbook. No one laughed very hard.

And that was the cruelest irony of all.

In the end, Anis didn’t die because he didn’t know enough but because he never once thought he might need to.