Thursday morning. 11:00 am.
the phone rang. jarring. violent.
it vibrated against the wooden table, a buzzing drill that shattered the morning calm.
shubham looked at the screen. the name flashed in white letters against the black background: Manager (Ex).
his stomach clenched instantly. acid reflex. years of pavlovian conditioning. pick up pick up deadline deadline. the ghost of cortisol spiked in his blood.
reshma was watching from the kitchen, a mug of tea in her hand. the steam curled up, disappearing into the sunlight. "who is it?"
"old boss," shubham said. his voice was tight.
"don't pick."
"have to. severance paperwork maybe. gratuity settlement."
he picked up. put it on speaker. set the phone down on the table as if it were a bomb.
"hello sir."
"arre shubham! my boy! how are you beta?"
the voice filled the small room. it was too sweet. syrupy. like gulab jamun that had been left out in the sun too long—sticky and suspicious. you could hear the fake smile through the static.
"fine sir. termination letter received. thank you," shubham said, keeping his voice mechanical.
"arre forget letter! listen listen. big problem here. the code you wrote for Client X? nobody understands it. rohan is crying. literally crying in the washroom. client is screaming on the other line. project is stuck. completely stuck."
shubham stayed silent. he could hear the background noise of his old office—the hum of servers, the click of keyboards, someone shouting about a merge conflict. he didn't miss it. not one bit.
"so i was thinking," the manager continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if offering a shady deal in a back alley. "come back na? we cancel termination. i spoke to HR. all forgiven. you just apologize for... you know... dropping productivity. we forget everything. wapas aa jao yar. boss ka to kaam hi hai bolna. (it's a boss's job to scold). you know na? it's common in corporate."
practically begging. the desperation was palpable, like the smell of anxious sweat.
reshma narrowed her eyes. she took a sip of tea, watching him over the rim. waiting. waiting for the old shubham to cave. waiting for "yes sir sorry sir i'll fix it sir."
shubham adjusted his glasses. he looked at his hand—it wasn't shaking.
"sir."
"yes beta?" hopeful. eager.
"calculate my severance. send it by monday. and good luck with rohan. tell him to check the documentation i left on confluence."
"what? but shubham—"
"i'm not coming back. i have self-respect. and i have a wife. neither fits in your office culture."
"you act like big hero! you will starve! nobody hires fired employees! i will blacklist you!" the sweetness evaporated, replaced by the familiar venom.
"we'll see. bye sir."
click.
silence.
absolute, ringing silence.
reshma stared. mouth open slightly. tea forgotten.
"did you just..."
"giga chad mode," he said. deadpan. he pushed his glasses up his nose. "activated."
she laughed. it was a loud, startling sound. she clapped her hands. "oh my god! who ARE you! that was... sexy. weirdly sexy."
"unemployed," he reminded her, the coolness fading as reality checked back in. "i am a very cool, very sexy, very unemployed person."
2:00 pm. The Hunt.
the coolness vanished by lunchtime.
the room was hot now. the fan just swirled the warm air around.
laptop open. browser tabs multiplied like bacteria. upwork. fiverr. linkedin. toptal. freelancer.com.
his eyes strained against the blue light. headache forming behind his temples.
Project: E-commerce Website. Budget: $50. Description: Need complete amazon clone. Must handle 1 million users. Delivery: Yesterday.
"trash."
Project: App Developer. Budget: Exposure. Equity in my startup that doesn't exist yet.
"trash. scam. trash."
scrolling. scrolling. the mouse wheel clicking. despair creeping in like rising water. the rent was due in 10 days. the medicine strips were emptying. the cylinder would run out soon.
ping.
a notification. sharp. hopeful.
Client: TechSolutions_US (New York) Need Urgent Developer. Full stack. React, Node, AWS, Appium testing, DevOps. Budget: Fixed. Tight timeline.
shubham messaged. fingers flying.
Shubham: Interested. 4 years experience in MERN stack.
Client: Call now.
call connected within seconds. american accent. rushed. arrogant. background noise of traffic—someone calling from a car, probably a bmw he couldn't afford.
"look buddy. i don't have time for interviews. i need a fullstack clone. backend API. frontend dashboard. mobile app for drivers. automated testing script. ci/cd pipeline. everything. need it in 2 weeks."
shubham blinked. "sir, that represents four different specialized roles. backend, frontend, mobile, qa."
"i'm paying for one developer. you want it or not? $400 flat. take it or leave it. i have ten other guys waiting."
$400. 32,000 rupees.
he did the math instantly. rent: 12k. meds: 15k. food: 5k. zero savings.
it was slavery. it was exploitation. it was suicide. two weeks of no sleep, eye strain, back pain, and cortisol.
he looked at reshma. she was sitting on the bed, emptying her purse. counting coins and crumpled ten-rupee notes. frowning at the little pile. insufficient funds.
he looked at the scan results lying on the table under a paperweight. Leukemia treatment protocol: Cycle 2.
he swallowed his pride. it tasted like ash.
"i'll take it."
"good. start now. i want an update every 4 hours. miss one update, no pay. i'll send the contract."
click.
he put the phone down. it felt heavy, like a brick. his hand felt dirty.
"shubham?" reshma asked, looking up from her coin counting. "you okay? you look pale."
"got a gig," he lied. forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "easy one. good money."
"really?" her eyes lit up. "oh thank god."
"yeah. piece of cake."
he turned to the screen. cracked his knuckles.
giga chad de-activated.
survival mode: ON.
he stared at the blank IDE. the cursor blinked. blink. blink. mocking him.
hello darkness, he thought. my old friend.
(Speaker: hero moment: 5 mins. slave moment: 2 weeks. balance of the universe maintained. sorry bro. capitalism remains undefeated.)