Small imaginary stories

  The Silence Between Two Calls Distance does not always mean kilometers. Sometimes it means… two busy people with good intentions and very little time. A week had passed since Meera moved to the new branch. The first two days they spoke normally. Small conversations. “How was work?” “Too many files.” “Did you eat?” “Yes.” Very normal. Very… careful. But by the fifth day, something changed. Work at his branch suddenly increased. Two staff members were on leave. Which meant… More work for him. More responsibility. More mistakes to avoid. More tea. One evening he reached home late. His mother looked up from the kitchen. “You look like someone who fought a tiger.” He dropped his bag. “Not tiger.” “What then?” “Excel sheet.” She nodded seriously. “Yes… Excel sheet is more dangerous.” After dinner he checked his phone. One message from Meera. “Long day. Talk tomorrow?” He typed quickly. “Same here. Tomorrow.” But tomorrow became another busy day. And then another. And then another. Four...

  The Last Evening at the Small Office Last days are strange. They look like normal days — but every small thing feels highlighted. The old tilted name board. The noisy CPU. The tea boy’s dramatic announcements. It was Meera’s final week at the branch. People had already begun saying, “Don’t forget us,” as if she were moving to another planet. He tried to behave normal. Professional. Balanced. Version Two. But balance is harder when time feels limited. On her last evening, the office closed earlier than usual. Small farewell. Cheap cake. Plastic knife that refused to cut. The manager gave a short speech. “Good employee. Strong analytical skills. Wish you growth.” Claps. She thanked everyone politely. Then, unexpectedly, she said: “And thanks to someone here… who reminded me that growth is quiet too.” For a fraction of a second, her eyes met his. Nobody else noticed. But he did. After everyone left, only the two of them remained. The office looked small...

  The Transfer Letter Some news doesn’t knock. It just arrives in an envelope. The next Monday, the manager called Meera into his cabin. Five minutes later, she came out holding a printed letter. Her face was calm. Too calm. He knew that calm. It meant something was final. She walked to her desk. Sat down. Opened the drawer. Closed it again. The tea boy whispered loudly, “Promotion confirmed?” She nodded slightly. “Yes. Head branch. From next month.” The office clapped politely. Growth. Opportunity. Bigger clients. He clapped too. Because that’s what you do when someone moves forward. But inside, something felt like a page turning without asking him. At lunch, people surrounded her. “Party!” “Don’t forget us when you become manager.” “Head branch means AC works properly.” She laughed at all of it. He stayed at his desk. Not avoiding. Just… adjusting. She walked over after the crowd reduced. “You didn’t say anything.” He looked up. “Congratulations.” “...

  The Result & The Word He Didn’t Expect Results don’t arrive dramatically. They arrive on ordinary afternoons when you’re doing ordinary things. He was reconciling a vendor ledger when his phone vibrated. Unknown number. He ignored it. It vibrated again. He excused himself and stepped outside the office. “Hello?” “Sir, this is from the certification board. Your results are published online.” His throat went dry. “Okay… thank you.” The call ended. For a moment, he just stood there near the staircase, phone in hand. His heartbeat returned to surround sound mode. He opened the website. Slow internet. Of course. The loading symbol spun like it was enjoying the suspense. He typed his roll number carefully. Double-checked. Pressed Enter. The screen refreshed. He stared. Then blinked. Then stared again. PASS Not top score. Not distinction. Just PASS. But it felt louder than any word he had seen before. He didn’t shout. He didn’t jump. He just leaned a...