| Error Day

Alright, I reached thirty minutes early. Let me go have some tea and grab something to eat. But why is it so quiet? Where is everyone in the office? Forget the tea, let me check what's going on.

As I turned away from the canteen and walked back, I peeked through the transparent glass of the right-side gallery. Everyone was standing in a big circle, and in the middle stood my team leader, speaking about something. I couldn't hear, nor did I care to.

I checked the time and headed back toward the canteen. I had tea and enjoyed some fritters. I was still chewing when a familiar 2.5-kilo hand suddenly swooped over my shoulder and snatched four or five fritters from my plate.

I blurted out, "You jerk! At least leave some for me!" In response, I lost two more fritters.

"What are you doing, Rajeev? If you eat so much, you'll explode."

"He he he—'you will explode'," Rajeev repeated my words, laughing. Then, dragging his six-foot-tall bulky frame, he somehow squeezed onto a small delicate chair and, in a hushed tone, said,

"I heard you got an escalation from a client."

I laughed. "Old joke, come up with something new. Or go do your work—justify your salary."

Rajeev smirked, "Excuse me, I don't get small escalations. When I do, they're major ones. I don't get escalation files—I get big emails. That's how I justify my salary. I'm serious; I just saw Sanket Sir's escalation file. Your name is at the top. The client call is happening soon."

I warned him, "If this is a joke, today will be your last day on earth."

Rajeev swore, "I swear, go inside fast. Sanket Sir doesn't seem in a good mood."

My appetite vanished. I handed the remaining fritters to him and rushed inside.

Sanket Sir is a middle-aged, cheerful man, but he doesn't joke about work. Someone once told me that he forced a sick employee to come to work because a deadline was due.

He never scolded me or raised his voice, but I was still afraid of him. I always ensured my work was perfect. I never arrived late, even if I had to leave home hungry, and I never exceeded my break time. I even worked on festivals without complaints.

But today, through the glass walls, his face looked unfamiliar. Should I go and ask him? I hesitated, then decided against it and turned to leave.

Just then, I heard a voice behind me, "Avni, Sir is calling you."

My heart shrank in fear, and my legs refused to move. My throat went dry—I wished I had time to take a sip of water. It felt like if I turned around, Sir would be standing there, holding the dead body of the escalation file, screaming, Murderer! Murderer!

I had nowhere to hide. So, taking a deep breath, I forced myself to walk toward his cabin like a balloon filled with courage. But with each step, that balloon deflated. By the time I reached the door, it had completely burst, and I entered like a defeated warrior.

The client call had already begun. Sanket Sir was on cumputer wearing headset, he gestured for me to sit and put on the headset.

I did as told.

On the other end, a sharp, displeased client's voice rang in my ears. I was bombarded with questions, and all the blame was put on me.

A high-profile client had booked 50 business class seats, but by mistake, they were booked in economy class. When the client noticed, they asked to change it to business, but no seats were available. Only first-class seats remained, and they were too expensive, so the client refused to pay. Since the economy tickets were non-refundable, they escalated the issue.

The call lasted an hour. Sanket Sir faced the heat more than I did. He struggled to do damage control, his points going negative while the client remained in a strong position.

But I had no memory of working on such a case. I didn't even recognize the customer's name.

I knew what was coming next.

After the call, Sanket Sir slid a file toward me and said in a low voice, "I don't care how, but fix this by today. Or submit your resignation."

It looked like he wanted to yell. I could see the veins on his temples twitching, as if he was about to explode like a nuclear bomb. But he didn't raise his voice. May God bless him for his patience—everyone should have such restraint.

Hearing the word resignation, my face turned pale. I wanted to cry, but I swallowed my tears like molten lead.

A single tear would mean I was playing the woman card, and I didn't want that accusation.

But if I think about it, I wanted to leave this job anyway. Every day, I spent time and money crossing rivers and mountains to reach here. But I didn't want to leave with an escalation stain on my record.

I sat at my desk and opened the file.

A voice came from my left, "Avni, what's in your tiffin?"

Rajeev was standing over my desk, his hungry eyes fixed on my lunchbox.

Still shaken by Sanket Sir's wrath, my hand and feet were cold like ice, his interruption made my blood boil. "Rajeev, my job is at risk, and you care about food?!"

Completely unfazed, he shrugged and grinned. "So, my free lunch is confirmed today"

Before I could respond, he walked away, laughing. He was right, I had lost my appetite.

In my mind, I punched Rajeev twice and threw him in a wrestling lock. Then I turned the first page of the file.

All fifty bookings were listed under my login ID. Meaning, they were booked from my system.

The transaction date was two months ago.

I searched my records—I had no history of booking these tickets.

So how did they get booked under my ID?

I'd think about that later. First, I needed to fix this before they kicked me out.

I called the customer. Their manager answered. I asked if they would accept travel credit vouchers. They refused—they had already booked new business class tickets with the same airline.

I requested the new booking details. They hesitated, insulted me for a while, but eventually gave them. I swallowed the bitter words like hot fitters and checked the system.

I found new booking was made two days later, because business class seats were available then.

Even more crucially, the passengers had Frequent Flyer Numbers.

(Frequent Flyer Numbers are given to customers who repeatedly book flights with an airline, granting them special benefits.)

I politely asked for seven days and hung up.

Then, I checked all the old bookings—every single one had a Frequent Flyer Number.

I called the airline, provided the details of both old and new bookings, and explained the situation and to make it more spicy I added if they don't allow refund of economy tickets passanger will cancel the business class tickets since they are fully refundable.

After listening that airline agent put me on hold for two hours with annoying hold music.

Finally, they gave me an email address and asked me to send all details, saying, "I can't confirm anything right now, but we'll do our best to process a refund as an exception."

I felt some relief. Two hours of creepy music is worth listening. I thanked them and sent the email, cc'ing Sanket Sir.

I also sent an email to the client with updated information.

Now, I had to find out who the real booking agent was. Who took the commission?

I didn't get a commission on this booking, but the blame had landed on me.

These glass walls, polished marble floors, and bright office lights—they all hid so much.

On my first day, I was afraid my rough, calloused feet would dirty this pristine floor. I felt I didn't belong here. How did I dare to enter?

And when I got the job, I couldn't believe it.

Where I started and where I am now—it changed everything. My language, my appearance… I unknowingly became the office.

Then I saw the cracks.

This office had its invisible battles. Jealousy, love, anger—I had seen all nine emotions here.

Some buried themselves in work, while others lived to find mistakes. Some gossiped, some ruined relationships.

Now, how do I find out whose vomiting I am cleaning ?