(And here we go. If you thought pulling an all-nighter, saving a bride from the Yamuna, lying to your neighbor aunty, and waking up to parathas was enough drama for one man… you clearly haven't worked in IT. Welcome to the real battlefield: the office.)
Azure Consultancy, 10:07 a.m.
Shubham sprinted through the glass doors like a thief late to his own robbery. Shirt half-tucked, tie hanging like a tired snake, laptop bag bouncing against his side. He scanned his ID so fast the machine beeped twice.
Inside, the Development Department was chaos squared. Screens glowed. Fingers pounded keyboards. Code errors popped like popcorn.
And there, at the center, was the boss.
"SHUBHAM KUMAR!"
The voice cracked across the office like thunder. Developers froze. Coffee cups trembled. Even the office plant leaned away in fear.
Shubham stopped dead, adjusted his glasses, and muttered the bravest lie in history:
"Good morning, sir."
"Good morning? GOOD MORNING?!" Boss's face turned tomato-red. "It's ten o'clock! Where were you? The server's down, the client's screaming, and my blood pressure is at a record high!"
Shubham swallowed. His mind offered the truth — 'Sorry sir, I was saving a crying bride from jumping off a bridge last night, fed her burnt paneer, lent her my shirt, lied that she's my wife, and she's currently at my flat eating parathas.'
But obviously, he said:
"Metro delay, sir."
The next four hours were pure torture.
"Fix this bug, Shubham!"
"Yes, sir."
"Why is the output wrong, Shubham?"
"Working on it, sir."
"Why is your face smiling, Shubham?"
"…Debugging, sir."
Because yes, ladies and gentlemen, Shubham was smiling. Not because of clean code (that's a myth), but because his brain kept wandering to her.
Was she okay in his flat? Did she lock the door? Was she still in his shirt? Was she crying again, or… cooking more?
And just like that, he pressed semicolon instead of colon. Code crashed. Error log exploded.
(Speaker: Bravo. India's best coder, defeated by thoughts of a girl. Shakespeare was right: love makes fools of us all, even developers.)
"Arrey, what's wrong with you today?" hissed Rohan, the gossip antenna of the office. "You're typing like your fingers are drunk."
"I'm fine," Shubham lied, staring too hard at the screen.
Rohan leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "No, no. You're… different. Bro, are you… in love?"
Shubham's ears turned red. "Wha—what? No!"
"Then why are you smiling like that? You look like you just merged branches without conflicts."
Others snickered. A girl from QA added, "First time I've seen him blush. Usually he looks like a calculator on low battery."
Shubham buried his face in his screen. His code still refused to compile.
Because the truth was: they weren't wrong.
There was a girl. In his room. Right now.
And he couldn't tell a soul.
By late evening, the office was a battlefield. Boss still shouting, developers still panicking, clients still calling. Shubham's brain, however, was elsewhere entirely.
He was the sole earner for his family since his father died when he was ten. Every line of code, every overnight shift, every paycheque — it wasn't optional, it was survival. His mother depended on him. His younger sister's studies depended on him.
This job wasn't just a job. It was the rope holding his family together.
And now, thanks to one night, that rope was fraying.
At 8:32 p.m., his phone buzzed.
"Ma," the screen said.
His stomach dropped.
He picked up. "Hello, Ma?"
Her voice was trembling. "Beta… you got married?"
Shubham froze. His brain crashed.
"What?!"
"Sharma aunty from Delhi called your uncle in Patna. She said you brought a bride home last night. In red clothes. Everyone is talking. Why didn't you tell us?"
Shubham's soul left his body. The gossip virus had mutated. The office stress was bad enough, but this? This was nuclear.
"Ma, I—"
No words came. No excuse big enough. No lie small enough. Just silence.
(Speaker: And there it is, dear reader. The boss broke his code. But Ma? Ma just broke his heart. Cliffhanger unlocked.)
Cliffhanger → His family thinks he's married. His office thinks he's in love. And the truth? Sitting quietly in his shirt back in his flat.