The ceiling fan rattled above him in the small lodge room, its rhythm like a tired drummer marking time. Arjun sat at the desk, his notebook open, pen steady in his hand. The page was half-filled already: budgets, seed projects, notes on receipts. But his mind wasn't on numbers.
It was on rules.
He had added a new one at dawn.
Rule #11: Jobs can be lost. Purpose cannot.
He stared at the line until it stopped looking like ink and started feeling like truth.
The Equalizer hummed faintly in the back of his mind, a current of calm, waiting, reminding him that time itself was now his ally. He didn't need to rush. He didn't need to beg. He needed only to direct.
Still, Monday had come. And Monday meant Synapse.
The office smelled the same as always: strong coffee, burnt wires, and ambition. People walked past with lanyards and laptops, nodding to him like nothing had changed. Only he knew how much had.
Karthik found him in the corridor.
"You're back." The manager's tone was clipped, as if relief had to be rationed. "Good. We've got Kavach Finserv breathing down our necks. You're leading integration from our side. Don't mess this up."
Arjun's chest tightened at the name. Kavach.
And with it, Riya.
The meeting room was a glass box, sunlight slicing across polished tables. Kavach executives sat on one side—grey suits, sharper smiles. Synapse on the other. Arjun sat straight, notebook open, laptop humming.
And then she entered.
Riya.
Perfectly composed, hair pinned, eyes glinting with practiced professionalism. She glanced at him once—no recognition, no history. Just dismissal.
The meeting began. Slides flickered on the wall, jargon filled the air. Arjun spoke when called, outlining the proposed integration. He kept it factual, steady.
But halfway through, Riya raised her hand.
"There's a problem," she said smoothly. "Synapse failed to deliver the API patch on schedule. Kavach had to rewrite part of the module ourselves. It delayed our internal timeline by two weeks."
Arjun's head snapped up. That wasn't true. The delay had been on her team—her code, her approvals. He opened his mouth to counter—
Karthik's hand shot up. "Arjun," he said coldly, "is this accurate?"
Arjun's jaw clenched. "No. The API patch was delivered on the 12th. I have the commit logs. Kavach didn't—"
Riya's laugh was soft, rehearsed. "Blame-shifting won't help. We all know who dropped the ball."
The Kavach execs murmured, watching. The room tilted against him.
"Enough," Karthik snapped. "Arjun, apologize. We're here to move forward, not fight over scraps."
The words rang louder than the hum of the AC.
Apologize.
For something he hadn't done. For something she had twisted.
Arjun's throat was dry. His pen dug into his palm. He wanted to shout, to throw the logs on the table, to expose her.
But everyone was watching.
Everyone except the Equalizer, which whispered silently: Structure over stunts.
So he lowered his eyes and said, "I apologize for the delay."
The words tasted like ash.
The meeting moved on. Slides resumed. Deals discussed. But he was no longer there. He was back on the street, on the asphalt, with the car bearing down. He was back in the shelter, clutching his bag. He was back in the café, hearing her say he would never be enough.
He had taken punches before. But this was the first time he had bowed his head to injustice.
Something cracked inside him.
After the meeting, Riya caught him by the elevators. Her smile was poison wrapped in silk.
"Still the same," she said softly. "Still weak. Still apologizing for things you didn't do. See? Even your company thinks so. Without me, you're nothing."
Arjun looked at her, really looked, and for the first time he felt nothing. No anger. No ache. Just a hollow where she used to live.
He walked past without a word. But in his chest, a fire had lit.
By evening, he sat in a quiet café across the street, laptop open. The hum of the Equalizer was steady, patient, as if it had been waiting for this moment.
He opened a resignation template from the internet. His fingers moved fast, precise, not with rage but with clarity.
Subject: Resignation — Arjun Malhotra
To HR, Karthik, and Synapse Management,
I hereby resign from my position at Synapse Technologies, effective immediately.
Over the past year, I have given my best to this organization, working with integrity and dedication. However, I have recently faced unjust humiliation and false accusations from a colleague, for matters not of my doing. I was asked to apologize for failures that were not mine, and this has deeply shaken my faith in the fairness of this environment.
I am unwilling to continue in a workplace where truth is negotiable and dignity is disposable. Therefore, I resign without claim to severance, pending salary, or benefits. My dignity is worth more.
Thank you for the opportunities given.
Regards,Arjun Malhotra
He read it once. Twice. And then he clicked Send.
The Equalizer's overlay glowed faintly in his vision.
Decision logged: Host has severed tether. Independence restored.
The HR department was hushed when he walked in. The manager looked up, startled. "Arjun? I just got your mail. You can't be serious. You were just promoted."
Arjun placed his laptop, ID card, and access badge on the desk. "I am serious. Consider this my clearance."
The manager frowned. "Think carefully. You're burning a bridge."
He met her eyes, calm. "I'm not burning bridges. I'm building my own."
She didn't know what to say. She signed the clearance. He signed the exit. And it was done.
When he stepped out of Synapse for the last time, the evening sun was dipping behind glass towers. The building gleamed, proud, untouchable. But to Arjun, it looked suddenly small.
He breathed deep. The Equalizer hummed—not like a machine, but like a river, steady and unstoppable.
For the first time, he felt light.
Not unemployed.Unbound.
He walked away with his bag slung over his shoulder, his notebook inside, Ganesh wrapped safe. The road stretched ahead, noisy and crowded, yet alive with possibility.
"Today," he whispered, "I quit my job. Tomorrow, I start my work."
And he kept walking.