The weight of responsibilities had been pressing down on everyone, but no one expected their first real crisis to hit all at once. It started with Shumaila.
She had spent weeks perfecting her strategy proposal, an ambitious project aimed at improving client engagement. It was detailed, innovative, something she was genuinely proud of. But when her department head called a meeting, she was stunned to see someone else presenting her idea.
Her hands clenched into fists as she watched Rohan, one of the senior associates, go through her research slide by slide, word for word, without even acknowledging her. It felt surreal, almost like a joke. But as the room filled with murmurs of approval, it hit her—this was really happening.
She turned to her manager, keeping her voice controlled. "This is my project."
He glanced at her but said nothing. Nothing.
The betrayal burned, but she wasn't about to stay silent. Once the meeting ended, she walked straight to the department head's office.
"I have all the original drafts, timestamps, and email records proving this was my work."
Her voice was steady, but inside, she was seething. She refused to let this slide.
Meanwhile, across the office, Hamza was in the middle of his own storm. The tech team had been working on an app update, but he strongly disagreed with the direction they were taking.
"This architecture is unstable," he argued, looking at his team lead. "We're patching a bug with a temporary fix instead of addressing the root problem."
His lead sighed. "Hamza, we don't have time to rebuild from scratch."
"That's not what I'm saying. We need a better long-term solution—"
"You're an intern. Maybe take a step back and let the full-time engineers handle this."
The words stung more than he expected. Hamza clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the table. He knew he was right, but no one was listening.
Over at the NGO, Aarav and Akansha faced a different kind of crisis. They had been working on securing a major funding deal to support the shelter, but that morning, they received an email that made Aarav curse under his breath.
"The funding was pulled."
Akansha, who had been helping organize an event for the kids, turned sharply. "What?"
Aarav ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "The donor backed out. Something about 'restructuring financial priorities.' We needed that money to cover the next six months."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The kids at the shelter had grown attached to them. They had promised to help. Now, it felt like that promise was crumbling before their eyes.
In another part of the city, Komal found herself in the middle of an unfolding media scandal.
Her company's social media campaign had taken a bad turn—one of their posts had been misinterpreted, causing public backlash. Angry tweets, negative press, and growing damage to the company's reputation flooded in.
Her manager's voice was sharp over the phone. "We need damage control. Now."
Komal had been an intern for only a month, yet somehow, she was thrown into this mess. She barely knew how to handle corporate drama, let alone a PR crisis.
She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. If she wanted to survive in this industry, she had to act fast.
...
By the end of the day, everyone was drained, overwhelmed, and exhausted.
They met at their usual café, but instead of laughter and teasing, there was only tense silence. The stress was evident on everyone's faces.
Siddarth tapped his fingers against the table. "Okay, we're all clearly dying inside. Someone go first."
Shumaila exhaled sharply. "Someone stole my project."
Hamza scoffed. "I got shut down by my own team."
Aarav shook his head. "Our funding is gone."
Komal groaned. "I am drowning in PR nightmares."
Rudra, who had been munching on a fry, finally spoke. "And I, my friends, have done absolutely nothing today."
The group turned to him with glares, and he quickly raised his hands. "Okay, okay! Not the time for jokes."
Akansha, normally composed, rubbed her temples. "This… feels like too much."
Sneha sighed, leaning forward. "We knew it wouldn't be easy. But we also didn't come this far just to break now."
For a moment, no one spoke. Then, Shumaila straightened.
"I'm going to fight back."
Hamza smirked despite his frustration. "Obviously."
Komal sighed. "Guess that means I need to fix this PR mess, huh?"
Aarav nodded. "We figure out a way to get the funding back."
The exhaustion was still there, but now there was something else—determination.
Because no matter how overwhelming things got, they had each other. And they weren't backing down. Not now. Not ever.