“Today is a brand new day,” he says, making his playlist on Spotify.

Feelin’ Good, Everybody Wants to Rule the World, Eye of the Tiger. His playlist reflected his mood as he truly felt ready to take on the corporate world. He had his tasks completed and his motivation was at its peak.

He hugged his wife and kids and headed out in his freshly pressed pinstripe shirt, looking and feeling like a million bucks. Rishad started his day with an optimism seen only in movies.

Then he entered his office. Suddenly it felt like a dark cloud loomed over him. Like the premonition of something bad happening to him. Like the first two lines of the song Dark Red, “Something bad is about to happen to me, I don’t know what but I feel it coming.”

Instantly he was greeted by his manager, walking towards him with a smug look on his face. Rishad thought to himself, “Today’s the day when I am finally appreciated for my hard work.”

“Hi Rishad,” exclaimed his manager with a glee that honestly seemed a bit evil. “Have you submitted the VIP file last night?”

“Hey Mr Mann. Yes, I sent it to you as soon as I went home.”

“Funny, I don’t seem to recall getting anything in my email. Are you sure you didn’t just fall asleep as soon as you got home?” said Mr Mann, trying to belittle him.

“I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN MONTHS AND YOU SAY THIS TO ME, GOD I CAN’T WAIT TO LEAVE THIS WRETCHED PLACE AND SEE YOUR FACE NEVER AGAIN.”

Rishad’s inner monologue which he desperately wanted to be his outer monologue.

“My apologies bossman, but I’m sure I sent it to you last night. Have you checked your spam folder?” said Rishad with a calm voice.

“Oh really?? You’re gonna talk back to me now. Tell me, are you that dismissive of your paycheque? Do what I tell you to do and you won’t see a pay cut.”

That line alone was enough to ruin any man’s mood. But Rishad felt like a new man that day.

“Sure boss, whatever you say. Can I get to my desk and send it to you?” he said with a smile that seemed to piss off his manager even more.

“Do whatever, just get out of my face,” he said while standing still 2 feet away from his face, blocking Kuddus’s path to his office. Some sort of “alpha male power-play”.

Rishad walked away and entered his office. His walls were covered with motivational posters, Hot Wheels, and plants. A little piece of sanctuary he built to escape the pandemonium of working in a place that barely appreciates him.

He sat down trying to take it all in when his coworker Haseeb walked in, without knocking.

“Hey I need that file you were working on, stat,” said Haseeb, walking out as abruptly as he came in. He gave no prior context regarding the file so Rishad did not care. Nothing is going to bring him down today. Or so he thought.

Within moments another colleague barged into his office. The resident chatterbox Ms Jolly. She has the tendency to barge into people’s offices and talk about her love life. Annoying, but Rsiahd felt like today was the day he had to listen to her yapping.

Mr Mann saw the conversation happening and did not like it, not one bit.

“Do I pay you to sit around and talk about your feelings all day? Is that why you come into the office? Where is the email you promised to send me? I don’t see it in my spam folder,” he said, showing his brand new iPhone 17 Pro Max.

Rishad could see the email right there. He pointed it out with a smile while Ms Jolly had a not-so-jolly expression on her face. Mr Mann saw it and instead of rectifying his mistake, chastised Rishad for apparently wasting his time and not sending it on schedule.

“I will see you for this. For wasting my time.”

Rishad’s head started boiling. His shoulders got heavy. He looked down and contemplated what to say.

“Is today the day I rip him a new one? Is today the day I finally snap?” his inner voice said.

“My apologies sir, it won’t happen again I assure you.”

“Hmm. Now get back to work. Ms Jolly, please return to your cubicle.”

Something cracked inside Rishad. Maybe it was the constant nagging, maybe it was Jolly’s yapping, or maybe it was Mr Mann being nice to her while treating him horribly.

Yet he persevered. Started his work and met his daily goals at a good pace. Yet his manager was not satisfied.

“Are you slow in the head Rishad?” said Mr Mann while Rishad was getting a cup of coffee in front of half the office.

“The file you sent is corrupted, and now my new phone is a brick. What kind of stupidity is this? How did you even get recruited here? Yap yappity yap yap yap.”

Rishad asked to look at the phone only to realise the battery had died. He mentioned it in a meek tone while Mr Mann looked at his phone like he was trying to figure out an ancient contraption.

“Oh so we have a tech guy here now? Go ahead, tell me what else I’m doing wrong.”

Half the office had their breath held, waiting for Rishad to talk. He only took a deep breath and walked away with his coffee cup, leaving his manager in a much worse mood.

The meeting invite came five minutes later.
Rishad walked in with his coffee still warm in his hand. Inside were Mr Mann, HR, and two people whose names he barely knew but who suddenly mattered a lot. This wasn’t a discussion, more like a verdict waiting to be read.

Mr Mann spoke first, of course.

“We’re here because of a pattern of unprofessional behaviour,” he said, folding his arms. “Failure to send critical files on time. Disrespect towards management. And,” he paused, enjoying it, “damaging company property.”

Rishad blinked while taking a deep breath.

“I sent the email last night,” he said carefully. “You saw it this morning. It was right there. And your phone, the battery had died. I didn’t—”

“Rishad,” the HR representative cut in, not looking at him, “this is not the time to argue.”

Argue. That’s what they called it.

He tried again, slower this time, like explaining something to a child. He mentioned timestamps. Attachments. How lithium batteries work. How emails don’t corrupt phones. How none of this made sense.

No one listened.

Mr Mann sighed dramatically, as if burdened by Rishad’s existence. “See? This defensiveness is exactly what I’m talking about. No accountability.”

The word accountability echoed in Rishad’s head. Four months of sleepless nights. Seven-day workweeks. Missed dinners. Missed birthdays. All boiled down to this.

HR slid a paper across the table.

“Effective immediately, we’re terminating your employment.”

Just like that. No crescendo, no dramatic music. Just a sentence.

Rishad nodded. He surprised himself by how calm he felt. Like something had finally shut off.

He cleared his desk in silence. The Hotwheels went back into a box. The plants were left behind, too much effort to carry life out of a place that had none. A few coworkers avoided eye contact. A few watched. No one said anything.

When he stepped outside, the sun was still out. The world hadn’t ended. Cars passed. People laughed. Somewhere, someone was having a good day.

Rishad sat in his car for a long time before starting the engine. His playlist was still queued. Eye of the Tiger began to play, painfully ironic.

That morning, he had felt like a man ready to take on the world.

By afternoon, he felt small. Drained. Stripped of whatever optimism he had borrowed from sleep and songs and his freshly pressed shirt.

The day that began with hope ended with a cardboard box and a quiet drive home.

And for the first time in months, Rishad didn’t feel tired.

Just empty.