The only people I exchange a few words with each day are my boss and the coworker I share an office with. The first hates me, which is mutual, and the second is just as introverted as I am.
This place feels like a haven for brilliant minds who probably spent their high school years dodging bullies, which made them a little shy and a lot skittish.
I work in the Smart Home Development Department, where we craft algorithms that enable our systems to anticipate and adapt to a homeowner’s needs. The idea is that someone’s home should automatically know when to dim the lights, adjust the temperature, or even suggest a recipe for dinner based on what’s in the refrigerator, and so much more. It’s all about creating an intuitive living experience—that’s the company’s goal, at least.
Myspecific project, which I’ve kept under wraps, takes this concept a step further. I’m developing augmented reality, or AR, that integrates directly into living spaces. The end goal is for it to be lensless, no glasses or screens—just life, enhanced by layers of digital information that blend naturally into your surroundingsas the furniture. It’s not quite done yet, and nobody knows I’m working on it.
But if I can pull it off…
That would be pretty cool if I say so myself.
And a giant middle finger to both of my parents, which is also cool, not that they would be interested enough to ever see it.
At least some of those fish will soon see more of my work.
I look around one more time. It’s not exactly corporate espionage, but what I’m about to do feels thrillingly rebellious.
Who’s the good girl now, huh?
My heart races with a mix of nervous excitement and guilt as I wait for the right moment.
I’ve got this.
Carefully, I pull out the small net and a plastic bag from my backpack. The bag rustles softly as I unfold it and dip it into the water to fill it. Holding my breath, I wait for the tetras to swim closer and then scoop.
Four.
I’ve got four out of a thousand.
Staring at the net, disappointment creeps in. Four? Seriously? In the simulation, I always managed to catch at least twenty in one go. I curse myself for being so damn optimistic while coding.
I watch as the remaining fish dart to the bottom of the tank, clearly spooked, leaving me no chance to get more.
Little strokes fell great oaks.
It seems like I’ll have to do this a few times. Maybe that’s better, anyway—it would probably be noticeable if I took too many out at once, and it’s good to have hobbies.
Moving them to the bag and securing the top, I make sure it’s airtight while ensuring there is enough air for them to breathe comfortably.
Glancing around quickly, I’m relieved to see the coast is still clear. With the utmost care, I slide the bag into my backpack, cushioning it between a folded sweater and a soft scarf to protect my fragile cargo.
“You’re going to a better place,” I reassure them in a hushed tone as I zip them inside.
With my heart still thudding loudly against my ribs, I make a beeline for the exit. Each step is measured, and my pace is brisk but controlled to avoid drawing attention.
This isn’t just a rescue, it’s a small act of defiance, a silent protest against neglect.
Just because someone doesn’t require much does not mean they only deserve the bare minimum.
As I step out into the late August evening air, the weight in my backpack feels like a promise—a new beginning, not just for those four little tetras, but maybe, with their simple presence, an end to my own loneliness as well.
TWO
The locks disengagewith a soft click as I hold my smartwatch against the pad beneath the door handle, praying the headlines tomorrow don’t read ‘British Tech Whiz, 25, Nets Jail Time in Daring Fish Heist.’
Everything in this building is set up to be used with our devices, but there’s a hole for a manual key as well, a reminder that even the best technology has its failings, and it’s always good to have a backup plan.
My apartment is a modern space washed in light tones of white and beige and dotted with green plants that give it life and a sense of sanctuary. As I step inside, the silence greets me like an old friend.
