When Liam opened his inbox Monday morning, the subject line was blunt.
Subject: Exit Timeline Confirmation – Action Required
Emilia.
Always efficient. Never emotional.
Hi Liam,
Following our previous discussions and the onboarding of your role's successor, we'd like to formalize your transition. Please complete the attached offboarding document and propose a final working date (within the next 3 weeks) to ensure a smooth handover.
Thank you for your cooperation.
– Emilia
Liam read it three times, blinking slower each time.
Formalize your transition.
The words hit like the cold edge of a door finally closing.
He had bluffed — for weeks, months even — spinning polite fictions, pushing the timeline, staying just within the safe zone of "not quite gone."
And now, HR had taken him at his word.
The exit wasn't theoretical anymore.
It was administrative.
It was real.
He minimized the email and stared at the PTL dashboard.
Still open. Still active.
But no longer his.
The new junior associate, Ravi, had started the previous week.
Young. Efficient. Curious.
He asked Anika and Mateo for guidance — never Liam.
Ravi had even shared a message in the team Slack:
Excited to dig into the workflows. Appreciate the welcome.
Special thanks to Mateo and Anika for the support getting started.
— Ravi
No mention of Liam.
Not even a nod.
By mid-morning, Liam finally opened the offboarding form. It stared at him with the sterile urgency of bureaucracy: fields to fill, dates to select, boxes to tick.
He hovered his mouse over the "Proposed Final Day" field.
And hesitated.
Two weeks?
Three?
None?
He let out a slow breath. Then clicked out of the form without typing a word.
Around lunchtime, Anika passed his desk on her way to the café downstairs.
She didn't pause, but she did glance at him — just once — a look sharp enough to slice him open.
She knew.
She'd known.
And now, maybe, everyone else would too.
That afternoon, Liam got a calendar reminder:
"Exit Process Call – Emilia Rook – Thursday, 10:30 a.m."
He declined it.
Then re-accepted it fifteen minutes later.
Then opened the form again.
Stared.
Typed one word:
Pending
And closed the tab.
At 5:03 p.m., long after most of the office had cleared, Liam stood at the window overlooking the street below. The trams glided past. Cyclists zipped by. Offices across the canal blinked with lights and lives continuing without him.
He whispered to the glass:
"I don't even know if I want to leave."
But the machine had already moved.
The paper was in motion.
And now, Liam had to decide whether to get out of its way... or get flattened by it.