Malik sat anchored to a chair near the receptionist's desk, the insulated breakfast carrier clutched in his hands like a shield against the rising tide of contempt. Employees swept past in a blur of tailored suits, their sharp glances and muffled laughs landing like tiny, precise cuts. In his cleaner’s uniform, he was both hyper-visible and utterly invisible, a spectacle of everything that did not belong in this temple of corporate power. He wished for the ground to swallow him whole.
Fragments of conversation, sharp and unkind, swirled around him.
"Heard he tried to barge into the CEO’s meeting..."
"Security had to drag him out of the lobby like trash..."
"Can you believe she married a street sweeper?"
"Michael Dewitt would never embarrass her like that..."
The whispers were a caref
