Chapter 1
Arham had spent eight years climbing the ladder until he became the manager of a bank branch. People congratulated him as if he had reached the finish line. They saw the title on his business card, the neatly ironed suit, the glass office, and the respect that came with managing a branch. What they never saw was that every privilege carried a hidden invoice. Every month began with a fresh target, higher than the last. Deposits, loans, investments, accounts, revenue. The numbers were never goals to achieve. They were walls that kept moving farther away every time he came close.
He stopped measuring time in days and weeks. His life became a cycle of monthly reviews. The first week brought optimism. The second brought anxiety. The third became desperation. The fourth brought humiliation. Then the calendar reset, as if the previous month had never happened, and the punishment started again. There was no finish line, only another target waiting behind the last one.
His regional manager never raised his voice. He never needed to. Quiet disappointment was far more destructive than shouting. Every meeting ended with the same sentences. "We expected better." "You're capable of more." "Other branches are delivering." No insults. No threats. Just carefully chosen words that slowly convinced Arham that he was never enough.
At home, the pressure changed its mask. His family saw a bank manager, not a man slowly disappearing inside himself. They spoke about promotions, marriage, buying a bigger house, supporting relatives, and building a future. Every conversation added another invisible stone to the weight he already carried. He smiled because explaining the truth felt impossible. How could he tell them that every morning he sat in his car outside the branch for ten minutes trying to convince himself to walk inside?
Soon, his mind began to betray him. Every notification sounded like failure. Every ringing phone made his chest tighten. He would wake at three in the morning convinced he had forgotten a report, only to discover there was nothing on his desk. Even in his dreams he was chasing customers through endless hallways while a screen above him flashed the same message in red letters.
TARGET NOT ACHIEVED.
He stopped recognizing himself. He laughed at jokes he never heard. He nodded through conversations he couldn't remember. Food became tasteless. Sleep became negotiation. His reflection looked like a stranger wearing his face.
He applied for other jobs in secret, believing escape was still possible. Weeks passed without replies. Then months. Every rejection wasn't just a closed door. It became proof, at least in his own mind, that he truly wasn't good enough. Eventually he stopped applying altogether. Hope demanded energy, and he had none left.
The branch continued to function like a perfectly maintained machine. Customers came and went. Cash balanced. Reports were submitted. Staff smiled at clients. Everything looked healthy from the outside. Only the manager was falling apart, and even he had become skilled at hiding the cracks. He learned that people notice poor performance long before they notice silent suffering.
One evening, after another review in which he was told he had "failed to deliver expectations," Arham remained alone in his office. The lights of the city reflected against the glass walls, making it impossible to tell where the building ended and the darkness outside began. He stared at the performance dashboard glowing on his monitor. For a long time he didn't think about targets, promotions, or tomorrow's meeting. He thought about how strange it was that a person's entire existence could slowly shrink until it fit inside a spreadsheet.
The next morning the branch opened on time.
The staff wondered why the manager's office was still locked.
His phone rang unanswered.
The regional office called repeatedly.
By noon, the whispers had reached everyone.
For a few days there were condolences, flowers, and carefully worded emails expressing sorrow. There was a short meeting about employee well-being. There was a promise that mental health mattered.
A week later another manager took over the branch.
The targets did not change.
The monthly review remained on the calendar.
The dashboard still glowed with the same numbers.
The system never paused long enough to remember the man it had quietly consumed.
