Part 1 What the Cameras Missed by W NDUNGU The boss believed observation meant control, and control meant efficiency. That was why the cameras were installed—high on the walls, silent and unblinking. From his office screen, he studied movements, pauses, and productivity. To him, the cameras told the truth. What they never showed were the people. One morning, the boss stepped onto the work floor. His eyes stopped on my colleague—the one known for laughter, the one who always made long days feel lighter. “Why are you sad today?” he asked. My colleague looked up, surprised. “I am not sad, sir.” The boss smiled, confident. “I know you. You always have a happy face. You’re always jovial.” There was a pause. “Sir,” my colleague said quietly, “you think you know me. But you don’t. If you did, you would have noticed that I am unwell.” The room went still. “You judge us by what you see behind the cameras,” they continued, “but you never notice when we are exhausted—physically, emotionally, or spiritually. You never notice when we are hungry. Or when we need a break.” They shifted their weight, pain briefly crossing their face. “If you truly saw me,” they said, “you would have noticed my swollen feet. You would have asked questions before passing judgment.” The boss said nothing. The cameras kept recording. In that moment, it was clear: the screens had taught him how to watch, but not how to understand. Cameras record behavior, not burden. They capture faces, not fatigue. They show work, not the weight people carry into it. Being seen is not the same as being known. And no camera, no matter how sharp its lens #Creative Writing #Workplace #Leadership #Empathy #Short Story

A short story about choosing love instead of fear#choosing me#Creative Writing#Short Story#Love#Courage#Family

A short story about choosing love in the middle of fear