(A Corporate Comedy-Drama by Tanya Singh)
If hell had Wi-Fi, it would look exactly like Moksha Communications Pvt. Ltd.
I’m Rhea Sharma, 27 years old, junior copywriter, caffeine addict, and part-time emotional support system for my boss’s ego. My job? To make ads sound like poetry and convince people to buy toothpaste like it’s a luxury experience.
Don’t get me wrong — I love writing. I just hate writing for someone who thinks “creativity” means adding emojis to PowerPoint slides.
Every morning, I wake up promising myself I’ll quit.
Every evening, I find myself sending “Please find attached” emails at 11:58 p.m.
---
1. Monday: The Great Coffee War
It all started with coffee.
The office machine died on Monday morning. It was like watching civilization collapse. Marketing teams stopped breathing. HR started praying. Even the receptionist, who usually looked like a Greek statue carved from boredom, screamed, “WHAT DO WE DO NOW?”
And then, like a Bollywood hero in slow motion, he walked in — Aarav Kapoor, our new Creative Director.
Perfect suit. Half smile. The kind of face that makes you rethink feminism for 0.8 seconds.
He looked at the chaos, sighed, and said, “If we can’t handle a coffee crisis, how will we handle deadlines?”
Half the office swooned. The other half plotted his downfall.
I, being emotionally mature and totally professional, spilled my cold coffee on his laptop bag within five minutes.
He looked at me. I looked at him. The silence was louder than HR’s panic.
“Impressive start,” he said dryly. “I see why they call you the creative one.”
And just like that, my week began.
---
2. Tuesday: Presentation, Panic, and Papercuts
By Tuesday, we were told we had to pitch a million-rupee campaign to Natura Beauty Products — a skincare giant that believed in “natural glow” and “organic happiness.”
Translation: They wanted a tagline that rhymed with glow and made people feel guilty for having pimples.
Aarav wanted ideas by 4 p.m.
I had none by 3:59.
I sat in the brainstorming room, surrounded by colleagues who were mostly pretending to type while googling “best ad taglines 2024.”
Finally, I blurted, “What if we say, Your skin deserves kindness, not chemicals?”
Everyone looked at me like I’d just discovered gravity.
Aarav raised an eyebrow. “Not bad, Sharma. But can we make it sexier?”
I muttered, “We’re selling cream, not lingerie.”
He heard that. He laughed. He actually laughed.
For a moment, I forgot I hated him.
Then he added, “Still, fix it.”
And I remembered.
---
3. Wednesday: The Spreadsheet Apocalypse
Our accounts team lives in Excel sheets. They believe emotions can be quantified in columns.
That morning, Rakesh from Finance sent a company-wide email saying, “Please attach invoice in prescribed format.”
I accidentally replied-all: “Who invented prescribed format and why do they hate happiness?”
Within two minutes, HR called me.
Within five minutes, Aarav was in my cabin, trying very hard not to smile.
“Sharma, your honesty is… refreshing,” he said, fighting laughter. “But maybe limit it to brainstorming sessions?”
“I’ll try,” I said, dying inside.
“Good. Because we have a client review in ten minutes.”
“What?!”
He grinned. “Welcome to corporate spontaneity.”
---
4. Thursday: The Team That Cried Deadlines
Every Thursday feels like a horror movie climax. Deadlines attack from all sides.
We had to deliver five campaign concepts by EOD. Our team—me, Tanu (designer), and Mohit (strategist)—hadn’t eaten since morning. Tanu was hallucinating fonts. Mohit was swearing at PowerPoint like it owed him money.
And me? I was typing “creative” words that all sounded the same.
Aarav walked in, looked at our exhausted faces, and said, “Don’t chase perfection. Chase emotion.”
Tanu whispered, “I’ll chase him if this campaign fails.”
By midnight, we finished. Aarav stayed back, helping us polish lines, adjusting layouts, even ordering food. When we finally hit send, he clapped once and said, “Teamwork.”
We all groaned.
But secretly, it felt nice — like maybe this place wasn’t hell after all.
---
5. Friday: Dhokha at the Coffee Machine
Friday mornings usually bring hope. That day, it brought betrayal.
Rumors started flying that Aarav had presented my tagline to the CEO as his own.
I laughed it off at first. But when the internal memo went out with his name on the concept, my stomach dropped.
I walked straight to his cabin, heart pounding.
“Nice work stealing my line,” I snapped.
He looked up from his laptop, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Your skin deserves kindness, not chemicals,” I said. “That was mine.”
He blinked. “Rhea, I mentioned your name in the deck. The CEO just summarized it badly. You really think I’d take credit?”
I stared at him. He didn’t look like a liar. But corporate men rarely do.
I mumbled something and left, embarrassed.
By evening, he sent me an email:
> “Nice fight today. For the record, I’d never steal from you. Only coffee.”
He attached a photo of a new coffee machine. The office cheered.
I didn’t reply. But I smiled.
---
6. Monday Again: The Presentation That Broke Us
The big pitch was scheduled for Monday.
We were in a fancy boardroom with the Natura team, and everything was going great—until their CEO asked a question no one was ready for:
“What’s your why?”
Silence.
Everyone turned to me. Aarav gave a tiny nod — the kind that said, Go on, Sharma.
I took a breath.
“Because,” I said slowly, “people don’t just buy skincare. They buy the feeling that maybe, they’re good enough. We sell comfort, not perfection.”
The room went quiet.
Then the CEO smiled. “You’ve got the job.”
Our team celebrated like we’d won the World Cup. Even Finance smiled — which I didn’t know was physically possible.
Aarav came over, looked at me, and said, “Told you. Chase emotion.”
I rolled my eyes, but my heart was doing bhangra.
---
7. Wednesday: The Goodbye Nobody Expected
Two days later, Aarav called me to his cabin.
“Got a minute?”
I walked in, expecting feedback or maybe another lecture on fonts. Instead, he handed me an envelope.
“I’m leaving,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“I got an offer in Singapore. Big agency. Bigger chaos.”
My throat tightened. “You’re serious?”
He nodded. “The team’s in good hands. Yours.”
I laughed awkwardly. “Right. Sure. I can barely manage my desk.”
He smiled, that half-smile again. “You’ll surprise yourself.”
Before I could say anything, he added, “You’re the best writer I’ve worked with. Don’t let this place kill that.”
And then he was gone.
Just like that.
---
8. One Month Later: Deadlines & Dhokha (Season 2)
Corporate life didn’t stop for heartbreak. The coffee machine broke again. HR introduced “Fun Fridays” that nobody attended. Mohit started dating Tanu and we all pretended not to know.
And me? I got promoted.
I became the new Acting Creative Head. Which basically means I still do the same work but get blamed faster.
Sometimes I open old emails from Aarav. The one with the coffee machine photo. The one that said, Chase emotion.
And I realize he wasn’t just talking about ads. He was talking about life.
---
9. Friday Night: The Final Scene
It was one of those rare nights when the office was quiet. Everyone had left early. I stayed back to finish a campaign — because apparently, trauma looks like dedication on paper.
I made myself coffee, looked around at the empty desks, and felt something strange. Pride.
This messy, dramatic, caffeine-fueled circus was mine now.
Just then, my phone pinged. Unknown number.
> Still chasing deadlines, Sharma?
My heart stopped.
> Coffee’s better in Singapore, but the company’s worse.
I laughed — loud, real, and maybe a little teary.
Because sometimes, life gives you dhokha.
Sometimes, it gives you deadlines.
And sometimes — if you’re lucky — it gives you both, wrapped in laughter and a hint of love.
---
THE END
— Written by Tanya Singh
