Morning came too fast for Ethan Voss. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, and his body felt heavy as he dragged himself out of bed. The music from upstairs had finally stopped sometime near dawn, but by then his nerves were shot. He moved through his apartment slowly, dressing for work. His shirt was plain, his tie slightly wrinkled, but he did not care. All he wanted was to get through the day.
He locked his door behind him and walked out into the cool morning air. The streets were already filling with people rushing to different jobs. Buses honked, motorcycles weaved in and out of traffic, and vendors shouted about breakfast snacks at the corner. Ethan ignored it all, his head still weighed down with tiredness.
By the time he reached his office building, the sun was up fully. The glass structure reflected light into his eyes. He shielded them with his hand and pushed through the revolving doors. The lobby was crowded with people hurrying in. Some had coffee cups in their hands, others carried laptops. The sound of shoes striking the polished floor mixed with conversations that bounced off the walls.
Ethan moved toward the elevator. His office was on the twelfth floor, and he wanted nothing more than to step inside and let the machine carry him up. He stood in line as people waited for the next lift to arrive.
When the doors finally slid open, there was a rush. Everyone pushed forward at once. Ethan tried to keep his place, but a woman in a sharp blue skirt and blazer suddenly slid past him. She did not look at him as she moved directly into the elevator ahead of him.
He frowned but said nothing.
The crowd pushed inside, filling the space quickly. Ethan followed behind them and stepped forward when the warning beep went off. Just as he was about to enter, the elevator chimed loudly. A red light blinked above the doors.
"Maximum weight reached. Please wait for the next lift."
The robotic voice echoed across the lobby.
Everyone inside the elevator turned their heads toward Ethan. Their faces were blank, some irritated, some impatient. The message was clear. He was the last one in line, and he had to step back.
His face warmed with embarrassment. He muttered an apology and stepped away from the doors. The people inside stared for a moment longer, then the doors closed smoothly, cutting him off from their gaze.
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced at the other elevators, but the lines there were long as well. He sighed and turned toward the staircase.
The climb was brutal. The stairwell smelled faintly of paint and dust. By the third floor, his breath had grown short. By the sixth floor, his legs burned. He paused at the seventh, resting his hand on the rail, before forcing himself to continue. Sweat formed under his collar. His tie felt like a rope tightening around his neck.
When he finally reached the twelfth floor, he leaned against the wall, breathing hard. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and forced a tired smile to himself. "Great start to the day," he whispered bitterly.
He straightened his shirt and walked toward the office section. The glass door bore the company's logo, and inside was the familiar hum of ringing phones and tapping keyboards. He swiped his card and pushed through.
Ethan's desk sat near the middle row. It was small, with a single computer monitor, a phone, and a stack of files waiting. As soon as he sat down, the phone rang.
He picked it up. "Yes, this is Ethan Voss."
The caller launched straight into questions. Ethan scribbled notes, nodded even though they could not see him, and gave answers as quickly as he could manage. When he hung up, the phone rang again almost immediately.
The cycle continued. Every time he set the receiver down, it rang again. His hand grew sore from holding it, but he had no choice. He scribbled more notes, flipped through files, and typed with one hand while balancing the phone on his shoulder.
Around him, his co-workers moved with ease. Some chatted softly in pairs. Others sipped from coffee mugs as they worked. Ethan, however, felt the weight of eyes on him now and then. A few coworkers glanced in his direction, whispering to one another.
At one point, a man named Collins from the next desk leaned over. Collins was older, broad around the waist, with a smirk that rarely left his face.
"You nearly broke that elevator this morning, huh?" Collins said loud enough for two others nearby to hear.
Ethan looked up, startled. "It wasn't me. The elevator was already full."
Collins shrugged, still smirking. "Sure, sure. Just saying, maybe the stairs are better for you."
The two others chuckled quietly. Ethan felt heat rise in his cheeks again, but he forced a small smile. "Maybe you're right."
He returned to his work, pretending not to hear their soft laughter.
Hours dragged by. His phone never stopped. He ate his lunch at his desk while flipping through documents. Once, he stood to stretch, but almost immediately his supervisor walked past, giving him a sharp look. Ethan sat back down quickly.
By late afternoon, his voice was hoarse from talking on the phone. His notes were scattered across the desk, his handwriting barely legible from the rush. He leaned back in his chair for a moment and rubbed his temples.
"Long day?" a soft female voice asked.
Ethan looked up. It was Maya, one of the newer staff members. She smiled gently at him.
"Very long," he admitted.
She glanced at his desk. "You've been on calls all day. I don't know how you managed."
He chuckled softly. "Neither do I."
She gave him a nod and walked away, leaving him with a rare sense of relief. Not everyone looked down on him.
Still, as the clock struck closing time, Ethan felt more drained than ever. His legs ached from the morning climb, his throat hurt from talking, and his head throbbed from stress. He shut down his computer, stacked his files neatly, and left the office quietly.
Outside, the sun was beginning to set. He walked slowly down the street, shoulders heavy, mind clouded. Another day had passed, but the unease from the previous night, and the humiliation of the morning, lingered inside him.