As always, he woke up to the sound of the alarm. It was a morning no different from any other, except for the date change that forced him to call it a new day. He got up, turned off the alarm, and washed his face and hands. He put on his white shirt, tied his black tie with meaningless patterns and white stripes. Then he wore his black trousers, faded from washing, that he had ironed the night before, and headed to the door. He grabbed his keys, opened the door with its usual creak, put on his brown, leather-like shoes. He checked his pockets: wallet, phone, keys. Everything was in place.

He walked down the stairs from his third-floor apartment and stepped into the street. The city was already alive with noise,yet he remained disconnected. He went to the bus stop and started waiting for the bus scheduled to arrive at 9:13. The bus came right on time, as always. He sat at the very back, where the engine’s sound and heat were most intense. That corner of the bus had become his unofficial sanctuary.

The bus stopped in front of a large company. Our protagonist got off and looked at his watch. There were fifteen minutes until work started. He walked slowly toward the building, his shoes clicking against the pavement like a countdown to another predictable day. At the door, a burly man asked for his ID.

 He showed the ID he took from his wallet. After a quick glance, the man opened the door. The protagonist walked in. He crossed the spacious lobby and headed for the elevator. He went up to his office on the fourth floor. The room was small, but it looked spacious thanks to its glass walls. He sat at his desk and waited for work hours to begin.

When the time came, he started his routine tasks: data entry, correspondence, file work... The minutes dragged on, forming hours, and the hours eventually gave way to evening. He packed his things, and on his way out, saw his boss, Mr. Acun. In a low voice, he said, “Good evening, Mr. Acun.” The words fell out of his mouth by habit, stripped of emotion.

The next morning, he again woke up to the same alarm sound.The next morning, he again woke up to the same alarm sound. He washed his face and noticed sweat stains on the collar of his white shirt. He took out another shirt of the same model from the closet and wore it. The day passed in the same way again. Every gesture, every step had become so automated that it felt rehearsed, as though life were a theater play with no audience.

But that evening, Mr. Acun called him on his way out. He tried to ignore it at first, but after a few more calls, he reluctantly entered the office. His boss’s office was spacious and luxurious, filled with expensive leather furniture and abstract art. Mr. Acun asked, “Would you like to have an office like this?”

  Our protagonist was startled and only nodded. The boss continued: “I’ve been observing you for a while. You’re quiet anddisciplined. I’d like to see you as a sales consultant.”

He lifted his head in surprise. This offer echoed the unease he had suppressed for years. It wasn't just about the job—it was about disruption. When he returned home, these thoughts spun in his mind like an unresolved puzzle. Time was cyclical for him. Every morning the same shirt, the same seat, the same empty greeting... It was all like a ritual he had never questioned until now.

He accepted the promotion. Life seemed to be changing. Planes, hotels, meetings, unfamiliar cities, different languages...