Over the past ten days, things had quietly started changing for Krishna.
Not in a good way.
Work kept increasing.
The moment he finished one task, another one would land on his desk.
No pause. No breathing space.
Sanjay Verma didn't say much, but his actions were clear.
He was testing him.
Or pushing him.
Or maybe both.
Krishna didn't complain.
He just kept working.
In the cultural team, there were three other people.
But none of them really worked.
They didn't like Krishna.
And they didn't respect Sanjay either.
Most of the time, they stayed out of things, doing the bare minimum.
Which meant—
Almost all the actual work ended up with Krishna.
That day was no different.
Krishna had been working continuously, finishing task after task.
By the time he completed the last one, his eyes felt heavy, his fingers slow, and his mind exhausted.
He leaned back slightly, exhaling.
"Bas… thodi der break le leta hoon…"
Without thinking much, he got up and walked out.
Not toward the cafeteria.
Not outside.
But toward the rooftop.
It was quiet there.
Almost no one came.
And Krishna liked that.
The air felt lighter.
Cleaner.
For a few minutes, he just stood there, letting the wind hit his face.
No noise.
No pressure.
Just silence.
After a while, he came back.
His steps were normal again, his mind slightly calmer.
He sat down in front of his system.
Logged in.
And froze.
The folders were empty.
For a second, he didn't react.
Then he checked again.
Opened another directory.
Nothing.
His breathing slowed.
He quickly searched.
No files.
He opened the backup location.
Empty.
Now his fingers started moving faster.
Click after click.
Search after search.
Still—
Nothing.
His mind tried to process it.
Impossible.
He had saved everything.
Properly.
He remembered it clearly.
"Yeh… kaise ho sakta hai…"
His voice was low.
Almost confused.
The system required his ID and password.
No one else could log in.
He hadn't left it open.
He had shut it down.
Then—
How?
Krishna looked around.
The others were there.
Busy pretending to work.
But their expressions—
Slightly off.
Not normal.
Something felt wrong.
After a few minutes, Krishna stood up and walked straight toward Sanjay Verma.
He stopped in front of him.
"Sir… ek problem ho gayi hai…"
Sanjay didn't look up immediately.
"Ab kya ho gaya…"
Krishna took a breath.
"Sir… jo files maine complete ki thi… woh system se delete ho gayi hain… backup bhi…"
Sanjay's eyes lifted slowly.
There was no concern.
Only irritation.
"Delete ho gayi…? Ya tumne save hi nahi kiya…"
Krishna shook his head.
"Sir, maine properly save kiya tha… aur system bhi shutdown kiya tha…"
Sanjay suddenly stood up.
His chair slid back with a sharp sound.
"Tum logon ki ek hi problem hai… kaam karna nahi aata, excuses ready rehte hain…"
Krishna tried to speak again—
"Sir, main jhooth nahi bol raha—"
Before he could finish—
Sanjay grabbed the diary from the table and threw it straight at him.
It hit Krishna directly on the nose.
A sharp impact.
Krishna stepped back instantly.
His glasses slipped off and fell to the floor.
For a second, everything blurred.
A thin line of blood started running from his nose.
Silence spread across the room.
No one moved.
Krishna slowly bent down, picked up his glasses, and held them in his hand.
His expression had changed.
The confusion was still there.
But now—
Something else had started to appear beneath it.
And Sanjay Verma—
Was still looking at him.
As if none of this mattered.
The sound of the diary hitting the table and Krishna stepping back had already drawn attention.
People were watching.
Not closely.
Not seriously.
Just from a distance.
Because for them—
This wasn't new.
This was routine.
Small groups from the crime and politics teams stood at the corner, whispering, some even smirking slightly.
For them, this wasn't shocking.
It was entertainment.
Sanjay Verma stood there, breathing heavily, his anger still visible.
But this anger wasn't just about Krishna.
It had been building for days.
Weeks.
The performance of his entire visual team had been dropping.
Not just cultural—
Even the crime and politics sections were slipping.
And in the monthly meetings, other team leaders didn't miss the chance to point it out.
Subtle comments.
Hidden taunts.
And sometimes, direct embarrassment.
Sanjay had become a joke.
And he knew it.
In the cultural team, there were three names that constantly irritated him—
Sumit.
Deepak.
Sameer.
All three of them avoided work.
Always busy with something else.
Phones.
Talking.
Excuses.
The moment real work came—
They disappeared.
And if pushed—
They simply refused.
Krishna was different.
He worked.
He didn't argue.
He didn't complain.
He didn't push back.
And maybe—
That was exactly why Sanjay chose him.
Because he could.
Because Krishna wouldn't resist.
To Sanjay, he had become an easy outlet.
A place to dump all his frustration.
Sanjay took a step forward again, his voice sharper now.
"Jab kaam karna nahi aata to karte kyun ho…? Bas bahane banana aur kamjori dikhani hai tumhe…"
He pointed vaguely toward the other sections.
"Baaki logon ko dekha hai…? Kaise kaam karte hain…? Aur tum… tumhe bas aaram karne se fursat nahi milti…"
Krishna stood there, head slightly lowered, still holding his glasses in his hand.
He didn't respond.
He didn't interrupt.
He just listened.
Sanjay's irritation only increased.
"Sunn kya rahe ho…? Ya samajh hi nahi aata…?"
Krishna remained silent.
That silence—
Triggered him even more.
Sanjay's expression hardened.
"Murti ban ke khade rehne se kaam nahi hoga… samjhe…? Agar kaam nahi kar sakte… to yahan khade rehne ka koi matlab nahi hai…"
He waved his hand dismissively.
"Dafa ho jao yahan se…"
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Krishna slowly adjusted his glasses back onto his face.
He didn't say anything.
He just turned slightly—
And stepped away.
Krishna stood in the washroom, leaning slightly over the sink.
Cold water ran over his fingers as he splashed it onto his face again and again. The drops slid down slowly, mixing with the faint traces of blood that had already dried near his nose.
His breathing had steadied.
His nose had stopped bleeding.
But inside—
Nothing felt stable.
He lifted his head and looked at himself in the mirror.
For a few seconds, he didn't move.
Just stared.
His eyes looked tired… but not just physically.
Something else had settled there.
A quiet frustration.
A slow-burning anger.
And beneath that—
Doubt.
"Yeh… main kya kar raha hoon…"
He muttered softly.
His fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the sink.
He replayed everything in his head.
The insult.
The slap of the diary.
The silence of everyone around.
No one stepping in.
No one reacting.
Like it was normal.
Like he was supposed to take it.
His jaw tightened.
"Bas… ho gaya…"
This time, his voice was firmer.
The thought came clearly now.
He would quit.
Not tomorrow.
Not later.
Now.
He grabbed a tissue, wiped his face properly, adjusted his glasses, and turned around.
He walked back toward his desk.
Each step felt heavier than before, but his mind was strangely clear.
His bag was still lying there.
Half open.
Just the way he had left it.
He reached forward, about to pick it up—
A hand rested on his shoulder.
Krishna stopped.
Slowly, he turned.
A few minutes later—
Krishna sat inside Kapil Sharma's cabin.
The difference was immediate.
The noise outside didn't exist here.
The air felt calmer.
Controlled.
Kapil sat across from him, relaxed but observant.
He slid a cup of coffee toward Krishna.
"Coffee le lo…"
Krishna hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
"Ji sir…"
He picked it up, took a small sip, and placed it back down carefully.
Kapil noticed that.
Didn't comment.
Instead, he leaned back slightly, his eyes fixed on Krishna.
Not casually.
Carefully.
As if measuring him.
After a few seconds of silence, he spoke.
"Yeh thoda ajeeb hai…"
Krishna looked up.
Kapil continued, his tone calm but direct.
"Tumne palat ke jawab kyun nahi diya…? Sahan kyun kiya…?"
The question landed straight.
No softness.
No filter.
Krishna didn't answer immediately.
His eyes shifted slightly, thinking.
Then he spoke.
"Sir… woh mere senior hain…"
He paused briefly.
"...aur agar main kuch galat bol deta… to baat mere khilaaf chali jaati…"
His voice remained steady.
"Isliye maine kuch nahi bola… mujhe laga chup rehna better hai…"
Silence.
Kapil kept looking at him.
No judgment.
Just understanding.
He gave a faint nod.
"Zyada tar log aisa hi karte hain…"
He said quietly.
"Chup rehna safe lagta hai…"
He folded his hands lightly on the table.
"But problem yeh hai…"
He leaned forward just a little.
"Yeh industry safe logon ko zyada der tak tolerate nahi karti…"
Krishna's expression changed slightly.
Now he was listening more carefully.
Kapil's eyes sharpened a bit.
"Ek baar… koi aisa bhi tha…"
He paused.
Not for drama.
For effect.
"Pehle din hi apne team leader se ulajh gaya tha…"
Krishna's brows pulled together slightly.
"Seedha saamne bol diya tha… bina soche…"
Kapil's voice remained calm, but there was weight behind it now.
"Sabko laga uska career wahi khatam…"
A small pause.
"Lekin…"
He leaned back again.
"Chaar mahine baad… wahi ladka usi team ka leader ban gaya…"
Silence filled the room.
Krishna stared at him.
Processing.
Surprised.
Confused.
"Sir… kaun tha woh…?"
His voice was slower now.
More curious.
Kapil didn't answer immediately.
A small, knowing smile appeared on his face.
He picked up his coffee, took a slow sip, and placed it back down.
Then he looked straight into Krishna's eyes.
"Tumhe kya lagta hai… kaun ho sakta hai…?"
Krishna sat there, still looking at Kapil.
The words he had just heard—
They didn't fully make sense to him.
Not yet.
He understood the situation.
He understood the story.
But the meaning behind it—
That was still unclear.
His expression showed it.
A slight confusion.
A quiet pause.
Kapil noticed immediately.
He had seen this look many times before.
New people.
New pressure.
New confusion.
He leaned back slightly, his voice softer this time, but steady.
"Krishna…"
Krishna looked up.
Kapil continued, slow and clear—
"Apni zindagi mein kabhi bhi apna sanyam mat khona…"
He paused for a moment, letting the words settle.
"Shant dimaag se faisle lena…"
His eyes stayed fixed on Krishna.
"Gusse aur nafrat mein liye gaye faisle… hamesha nuksaan pahunchate hain…"
A brief silence.
"Sirf humein nahi… balki un logon ko bhi… jo humse jude hote hain…"
The room went quiet again.
This time—
Not uncomfortable.
Just heavy.
Kapil wasn't just saying this casually.
He believed it.
Every word.
Because he had seen it happen.
Decisions taken in anger.
Impulsive reactions.
And the damage they left behind.
He wasn't talking like an editor right now.
He was talking like someone who had already gone through it.
Krishna listened.
Fully this time.
No distraction.
No hesitation.
His fingers, which were resting on the table, tightened slightly.
Because now—
He understood what Kapil was pointing at.
His decision.
To quit.
Right now.
In anger.
In frustration.
Without thinking.
Kapil leaned slightly forward again.
"Jo aaj hua… galat tha…"
His voice remained calm.
"But uska jawab… aur galat decision se mat dena…"
He didn't raise his tone.
Didn't force anything.
Just placed the words there.
Clearly.
Krishna lowered his gaze for a second.
His thoughts started shifting.
The anger was still there.
The insult was still fresh.
But now—
There was something else mixed in.
Doubt.
He slowly looked back at Kapil.
Didn't speak.
Didn't argue.
But inside—
The decision he had made in the washroom…
Was no longer as strong as it felt before.
A few days passed like this.
Krishna did not leave his job.
Kapil's words had stayed with him, not as motivation, but as a steady reminder that kept his thoughts from drifting toward anger. Because of that, his mind felt lighter than before. Not completely calm, but no longer burdened in the same way.
Something else had changed as well.
Earlier, Sanjay had been constantly loading him with work, leaving him with no time to breathe. But now, the situation had quietly reversed.
For long periods, Krishna was given very little work.
Sometimes, almost nothing.
Sanjay barely spoke to him anymore. No instructions, no scolding, not even a glance most of the time.
Krishna couldn't decide whether this change was good or something else entirely.
With less work, his routine became unusual.
He would finish whatever little task he was given within a short time. After that, he would sit idle, staring at the screen, waiting for something to come up.
Sometimes, the silence stretched so long that he would rest his head for a few minutes.
And slowly—
His body began to recover.
For the first time in days, he was getting proper rest.
Even if it was in small pieces.
That day was no different.
Krishna had completed his work and was sitting quietly at his desk. The system in front of him showed no pending tasks.
The environment around him felt still.
Too still.
Just as he leaned back slightly, allowing himself a moment of rest—
A chair was pulled beside him.
The sudden sound broke the silence.
Krishna turned his head.
A man from the cultural team had come and sat next to him.
Krishna recognized him.
He had seen him around many times.
But they had never spoken.
Not even once.
That alone felt unusual.
Krishna straightened slightly, his attention sharpening.
The man's presence didn't feel casual.
It felt intentional.
Krishna tried to place him in his memory and realized he didn't even know his name.
That made the situation even stranger.
Why would someone who had never spoken to him suddenly come and sit this close?
Krishna's initial assumption was simple.
Maybe it was something related to work.
Or perhaps just a brief conversation before leaving.
But as the seconds passed—
That assumption began to feel wrong.
Because the man didn't behave like someone who had come casually.
There was something in his posture.
Something in the way he sat there.
Still.
Focused.
Waiting.
And that quiet presence—
Without a single word—
Was enough to make Krishna slightly uncomfortable.
For the first time in a while—
It didn't feel like a normal moment.
It felt like the beginning of something else.
END OF THE CHAPTER