The first thing Liam noticed was how quiet it had become — not in the office, but around him.
No more sudden laughs from conversations he wasn't part of.
No more spontaneous questions tossed his way like he was the guy with all the answers.
Even the interns had stopped orbiting his desk like moons around a bright planet.
He wasn't the center anymore.
Maybe he never was.
It began with small shifts.
The weekly sprint calls used to open with Liam setting the tone — a clever comment, a framing metaphor, some smooth remark that made people chuckle.
Now, Anika did the opening recaps. Clean. Focused. Sharp.
No jokes. No fluff.
And the team responded to her.
Then there was Mateo, who despite his shoulder issues had been re-assigned to a new, hybrid documentation-troubleshooting role. He looked relieved. Engaged, even. For the first time, Liam caught him smiling during a sync.
Someone joked, "Mateo's got that post-PTL glow."
Everyone laughed.
Liam tried too.
But it landed flat.
One afternoon, Emilia sent out a team-wide announcement:
"Excited to share we've finalized onboarding for a new junior QA associate who will support PTL and other low-priority test rotations. Thanks to everyone who helped during the transition!"
There was no mention of Liam.
No nod to his supposed "departure." No "thank you for stepping in."
Just silence.
As if he were already gone.
In the break room, two analysts he didn't know well were talking over coffee.
"Anika's going to crush that regional pitch," one said.
"No doubt. Honestly, she's the one holding the QA side together right now."
Liam lingered near the fridge, waiting to be acknowledged.
They didn't.
He left without taking anything.
At home, Liam opened his laptop and searched for actual job postings for the first time in weeks. Not out of interest — out of desperation.
Maybe if he left now, it would feel like a choice.
But each listing he opened bored him. He wasn't ready to start over. He hadn't planned for this. His whole identity was tied to being the guy who stood out — and if he quit under this cloud, what would he be?
Just another name on a farewell cake no one remembered ordering.
On Friday, Emilia passed by his desk and said, "You free next week for a quick formal exit timeline discussion?"
Liam blinked. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Whenever."
She gave a polite nod.
And walked on.
No emotion. No curiosity.
Just... logistics.
He looked around the office — at the chairs, the walls, the glow of monitors that used to feel like a spotlight.
Now they were just lights.
And Liam?
He was just... there.
Not rising.
Not falling.
Just fading.