Three weeks had passed.
His routine hadn't become flawless yet.
But the change was undeniable.
Waking up at dawn.
Running until his lungs burned.
Two hours of dedicated skill learning.
Sending out CVs every single day.
The result?
Almost nothing.
However, he wasn't collapsing into pieces like he used to.
One afternoon, the phone rang.
An unrecognized number.
"Are you...? I've seen your CV. We have a temporary opening here. A three-month contract."
His heart began to throb against his ribs.
"Yes, sir."
"The salary isn't much. But you'll be able to learn the work."
How much was the salary?
Upon hearing the number, his face went pale.
So little?
Would this even contribute anything to the household?
But he didn't say no.
Because he knew—this wasn't just about money; it was a door.
The first day.
A small office.
Four desks.
Two permanent employees.
One senior.
He went in and sat down quietly.
The senior man looked at him and said,
"You're new?"
"Yes."
"Learn well. There is no room for mistakes here."
The words were common.
But they created an immediate pressure inside him.
In the first week, he made a mistake.
A tiny error in data entry.
The senior called him over and said,
"Can't you even do this much work correctly?"
There were two others in the room.
They remained silent.
But he felt it—everyone was listening.
His ears turned hot with shame.
He only managed to say,
"Sorry, it won't happen again."
The man replied,
"We aren't here to do charity."
This line reminded him of that previous interview.
He realized that office walls are not soft. They are hard and unforgiving.
Returning home, he remained silent.
Mother asked,
"How is the work?"
He said,
"I'm learning."
He didn't tell her the truth.
He didn't tell her that he had been belittled in front of everyone today.
He didn't tell her that he had spent several minutes in the washroom wiping away his own tears.
Because he didn't want his family to see his vulnerability anymore.
The second week.
He became even more cautious.
He double-checked every task before submitting.
Yet, one day, another mistake occurred.
This time, a file was uploaded to the wrong folder.
The senior raised his voice this time—
"This is the problem with taking on freshers like you!"
The room went dead silent.
He felt as if he was standing in that interview room all over again.
He realized that in this place, no one was going to protect his self-respect.
That afternoon, he went up to the roof.
He asked himself,
"Should I quit?"
A voice inside him said,
"Why do you need to endure this insult?"
But another voice whispered,
"Were you born with respect already in your hand?"
He closed his eyes.
He knew that if he left this job, he would return to zero.
But if he stayed, he would have to face his own inadequacy every day.
This conflict was agonizing.
In the evening, Father asked,
"Is the work alright?"
He paused for a moment and said,
"Yes."
Father said,
"Hold on to it. It's hard in the beginning."
This line stopped him in his tracks.
Father didn't give a long lecture.
But this man, who had worked his entire life, was saying—"It's hard in the beginning."
Perhaps, this was the law of the world.
In the third week, he made a decision.
He wouldn't just work—he would observe.
How does the senior organize files?
How does he draft emails?
How does he communicate with clients?
He noticed that the man was abrasive, but he was efficient.
And efficiency gives a person power.
For the first time, he understood: If you want respect, you must first become skilled.
One day, the power went out at the office.
The generator wasn't working.
Everyone was frustrated.
He quickly activated his laptop's hotspot and kept the work running.
He managed to send the client's urgent files right on time.
The senior didn't say anything.
But he looked him in the eye.
In that gaze, there wasn't the usual contempt.
It was a small, microscopic change.
But he felt it.
That night, back at home, he looked in the mirror.
There was exhaustion in his eyes.
But there was no brokenness.
He was beginning to understand—the insults weren't destroying him.
They were grinding him, making him sharper.
He was still nothing great.
The pay was low.
The respect was minimal.
But he wasn't running away.
At the end of the month, his first salary arrived.
The amount was small.
But as he held the notes, his hands were trembling.
He gave some of the money to his mother.
Mother said,
"Don't give it all. You'll need it."
He said,
"Take it."
Tears welled up in his mother's eyes.
For the first time, he felt that the value of money isn't in the digits; it's in the meaning behind it.
That night, he stood alone on the roof.
There were few stars in the sky.
But inside him, there was a new strength.
He wasn't successful yet.
He was still a temporary worker.
But he wasn't that boy anymore—the one who only said, "Let's see."
Now, he was standing tall.
With the insults.
With the struggle.
But with his back straight.
Chapter End Line:
"The small salary didn't change his life. But for the first time, he felt that he was no longer a burden to his family."