He stared at his laptop screen as if it might provide comfort.
It didn’t.
The cottage was silent apart from Prom’s vigorous scratching in the corner, which sounded less like grooming and more like judgement.
‘Don’t start,’ Kieran muttered, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’m aware I’m failing at life.’
Prom didn’t respond. He never did when Kieran talked to him. The cat saved his reactions for important matters, like the opening of a tin, or the appearance of a bird he wished to murder for sport.
Kieran flexed his fingers and tried again. Code. Logic. Systems. The things that always followed the rules, even when people didn’t.
Except today the code wouldn’t hold still. Every time he focused, his mind ricocheted back to the café: Janette’s booming voice, Alison’s quiet warmth, Wilma’s unnervingly accurate ‘aura’ assessment.
Dark purple, with a hint of magenta.
He didn’t believe in auras. He believed in caffeine, capitalism and the certainty of a well-written algorithm.
And yet Wilma had looked straight at him as if she could peer into his soul.
He pushed the thought away and opened the ClosetAura prototype, the home screen still showing the placeholder logo he’d thrown together at three in the morning. An outline of a wardrobe with a smug little sparkle in the corner.
The sparkle annoyed him.
He clicked into the onboarding flow. The copy felt too earnest. Too glossy. He needed it sharp, clean, useful.
Welcome to ClosetAura.
Let’s build a wardrobe that fits your life.
It read like something Sven would say on a yoga mat, smiling with his younger-Yoda face.
Kieran grimaced and reworded a whole paragraph with savage satisfaction. A little better.
Then his email pinged.
He ignored it.
It pinged again and, with a reluctant sigh, he opened it.
Re: Seed Funding Enquiry
Hi Kieran, thanks for reaching out. We’ve reviewed your deck and?—
He didn’t need to read the rest. He knew the rhythm of rejection too well. Polite. Efficient. Disappointingly civil. He skimmed anyway, just to confirm the universe hadn’t decided to change tone.
…not the right fit at this stage … wish you the best … keep us updated.
Keep us updated.As if he was sending them postcards from the land of Crushing Defeat.
He shut the laptop.
Prom strutted towards him, tail upright like a flag of judgement. He paused, looked at Kieran, then sat down and began licking his paw with exaggerated calm.
‘Oh, I see,’ Kieran said. ‘You’re having a spa day while I sink into a quagmire of despair.’
Prom yawned.
Kieran got up, paced the room, then collapsed into the sofa.
