“Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success.” 

— Albert Schweitzer

The sun was setting over Jurong East, forming long shadows across the rows of HDB flats that defined the scenery of the area. The concrete buildings stood like sentinels under the soft light of the evening. Their practical design was far from the flashiness and glamour of Singapore’s more iconic sites. Unlike the soaring towers of Marina Bay Sands or the futuristic Supertrees at Gardens by the Bay, Jurong East was a district grounded in reality. The daily struggle of life was noticeable in these buildings, which were characterized by their practicality and purpose.

The neighborhood was a mixture of gray and beige. The apartment buildings prioritized price over aesthetics and accommodated families whose daily activities filled the air with the aromas of dishes and the familiar sounds of evening routines. Children’s joyful giggles came from the playgrounds nearby, while street vendors vocally advertised their goods at all hours of the day. They provided a variety of fruits and snacks along with meals for the locals returning home after a hard day’s work.

Compared to the atmosphere of Orchard Road, which is filled with luxury stores and upscale dining establishments, Jurong East is a place where people come for their basic needs. The JEM and Westgate malls provide a range of shopping and dining options for socializing without the extravagance found in other parts of the city. The locals here live lives influenced by work and family responsibilities, with dreams tempered by the practicalities of residing in one of Singapore’s affluent neighborhoods.

Many migrants living in Jurong East see this area as a place of opportunity and challenge. They were attracted to Singapore by the promise of steady work and a better life. However, they then faced the delicate task of balancing the pressures of long working hours, tight schedules, and limited income to provide for their families while holding on to their cultural roots and traditions. Unlike the wealthier districts where ex-pats enjoy high-rise condos and private clubs, the community in this area often lives in simpler accommodations, sharing the corridors with fellow migrant workers, locals, and other low-income ex-pats who have made this place their home.

The Indian community plays a role in Singapore’s economy by contributing to the workforce across various sectors like construction and information technology as well as services industries. For them, long hours and hard work are the norm. While some members of the community improved their social and economic status, others work in demanding jobs that pay low wages, which is different from the glamorous image of Singapore as a global financial hub.

Like many others in the building, Sameer’s modest three-room flat was small and practical. The rooms were laid out efficiently, each serving its purpose without amenities or excess. The walls were thin, the fixtures basic, but it was home, where love and struggle coexisted and dreams were nurtured not in the pursuit of luxury but in the hope of a better future. The modesty of his flat reflected the simplicity and humility of his living conditions.

Sameer Bhatia was a 49-year-old man of short stature, measuring just a little over 157 cm tall. His round, chubby build was softened by the extra weight he carried on his belly, the result of long hours of sedentary work and the enjoyable, heavy meals his wife, Indira, prepared daily.

His round face, framed by thinning black hair now streaked with gray, exhibited the traces of a life spent balancing the demands of work and family. Once smooth and pristine, his black skin’s deep, rich tone now showed subtle signs of age and stress and the occasional gloom of sleepless nights. A thick, sloppy beard covered his jawline, adding a touch of ruggedness. His double chin, accentuated by the fullness of his face, contributed to the overall softness of his appearance, giving him a gentle, almost fatherly aura that made him approachable and warm despite the fatigue that sometimes showed in his small but expressive eyes.

His hands were small but strong, with slightly fat fingers and calluses from years of typing at a computer. Despite being shaped by work, these hands were gentle when holding his four children or comforting his wife, evidence of the passion that contradicted his somewhat bulky exterior.

It was early evening, and Sameer had been watching the city from his window for some time. The daily noise of the traffic below and the distant vibration of the MRT train were an eternal reminder of the demanding pace of life in Singapore. However, in Jurong East, the city’s iconic skyline was merely a remembrance, a distant silhouette that seemed worlds away from the lived-in reality of his neighborhood.

He had spent the whole day waiting for a call in his home office. It was a small and messy space at the far end of his flat, between the living room and the children’s bedroom. The simple desk eroded from years of use, dominated the place, its surface covered with stacks of paper, half-finished sketches, and a few random toys left behind by his children. The walls were adorned with shelves filled with books about web design, some technical manuals, and a few novels he hadn’t found time to read.

Family photos from India were gathered in the corners of the shelves, and they were reminders of a life once lived in the vivid streets of Kochi, Kerala. The pictures captured moments of simpler times, Sameer and Indira standing in front of a traditional Indian home, the warm, tropical air rustling the palm trees in the background. There were also images of family gatherings, the smiles of loved ones under the golden glow of the Indian sun, the women in colorful sarees, and the men in traditional mundus, symbolizing the rich culture and traditions they had grown up with.

For the past few years, Sameer has been working at a mid-sized tech firm called WebWave Solutions, situated near the Central Business District (CBD). The company permitted him to work remotely, but they also expected him to always be available. This arrangement allowed him to save money on daily commutes and expensive office lunches and spend more time with his family. However, it also meant that he had to fit his workspace into a limited area, blurring the boundaries between work and home to the point where they no longer existed.

Three years ago, he accepted his current role as a web designer, fully aware of its demanding nature but with the promise of a promotion to manager in a short period. It turned out to be worse than he thought. The constant storm of emails, never-ending hours, conflictive messages, and last-minute client requests made him feel he was always on call and never able to disconnect or take vacations.

Sameer had just settled into his chair when his phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the peaceful evening silence with its vibration. The name “Ishaan” flashed on the screen. Ishaan Tandon had been Sameer’s closest friend since they were young. They met in India, and he helped Sameer and his wife to accommodate when they moved to Singapore.

Ishaan, always the soul of any party, was a tall, thin man with curly hair and a funny laugh that could fill a room. His cheerful behavior often masked a deeper concern for those he cared about. Tonight, that concern was evident in how he greeted Sameer.

“Hey, Sameer, how’s it going, yaar?” Ishaan’s voice was as lively as ever, but there was an underlying tension that Sameer couldn’t miss.

“I’m okay, Ishaan,” -Sameer responded, gathering enthusiasm. -“Just the usual—work, the kids, you know how it is.” -There was a pause on the other end of the line, just long enough for Sameer to sense that something was off.- “So… have you heard anything?… I’ve been waiting all day for your call.”

Ishaan groaned, and Sameer could almost picture his friend rubbing the back of his neck, a habit he had when delivering bad news. “Look, man…, I did hear something at the office just now.”

Sameer’s heart began to beat a little faster. “What have you heard?”

“Okay… I overheard a conversation among the higher-ups. It seems that the senior designer promotion you were hoping for will not be happening. They have decided to give it to someone else. I am sorry, Yaar.” Said Ishaan.

When Sameer heard the news, his stomach churned with a mix of emotions. Disappointment and frustration filled him as he processed what had happened after all his hard work and dedication to his projects over the year, hoping to move up in his career. The announcement came as a devastating shock. Sameer clenched his fists for a moment, feeling the heat of anger rise within him. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to challenge the unfairness—but he didn’t. He simply gazed at the ground without saying a word while feeling a rush of turmoil in his chest. 

“How much longer can I continue to act like this isn’t painful?” he wondered in his mind.

”Are you sure?” Sameer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the disbelief and hurt evident.

“I’m afraid so, Sameer,” -Ishaan replied, his tone full of empathy.”-“They said it’s because the other guy—Rajat, I think—has been more ‘visible’ with his contributions. You know how these things go; it’s not just about the work; it’s about who’s making the most noise.”

Sameer felt a lump form in his throat. He had always been the quiet one, the workhorse who does his job without seeking the spotlight. It wasn’t in his nature to push himself forward or demand attention. He always believed the quality of his work would speak for him. However, this was the third time he was promised a promotion, and he just could not believe it was not happening again.

“Isn’t Rajat the young Malay guy who joined about three months ago or so?… I don’t know what to say, dude.” Sameer murmured, and the reality of the situation started to affect him. 

He had been counting on this promotion not just for the raise but for the validation that all his hard work meant something, that he wasn’t just spinning his wheels.

“I know, man, it’s not fair,”- Ishaan said with a soft voice. -“You deserved that promotion more than anyone. You’ve been busting your ass for years, and they should see that. But corporate politics… it’s a dirty game.”

Sameer swallowed hard, fighting back the disappointment and anger within him. “I thought… I thought this was finally my chance, Ishaan. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Indira. She’s been counting on this, too.”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the line. Then Ishaan, ever the optimist, tried to offer some comfort. “Sameer, listen to me. This doesn’t define you. You’re one of the best designers I know, and if they can’t see that… then screw them. Something better will come along; I think it is time to look for another job, man!”

Sameer nodded, though Ishaan couldn’t see it. He appreciated his friend’s support, but the pain of this setback was too much for him. “I have tried that for months already. The market is bad now, and I need the money. I can’t afford to be out of work while looking for another job now… Anyway, thanks, Ishaan. I just need some time to process this.”

“Of course, Yaar. Take all the time you need. And if you ever want to talk or just grab a beer and forget about it for a while, you know where to find me.” Said Ishaan.

Sameer managed a small smile despite the pain in his chest. “Thanks, Ishaan. I’ll talk to you later.”

After ending the call, Sameer leaned back in his chair and stared at the dirty ceiling. Still digesting the news, the room felt quiet at that moment. Inside, a storm of emotions raged within him: anger, sadness, disappointment, and fear. He had put in so much hard work and made sacrifices, but it wasn’t enough. The thought of telling Indira and confronting yet another failure was very painful.

Sameer took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the ache in his heart remained. He had always prided himself on his ability to provide for his family, to be the strong, reliable presence they could count on. But tonight, as he sat alone in the weak light of his small home office, he felt anything but strong. He felt lost, defeated, and, more than anything, small in a world that seemed determined to keep him that way.

Thirty minutes later, Indira arrived from the supermarket with the children. She said hello and immediately went to the small kitchen to prepare dinner. Quickly, the aroma of spices started filling the apartment, mixing with the faint scent of detergent from the laundry she had hung out to dry earlier. Indira was the cornerstone of the family, her energy and optimism contrasting with Sameer’s quiet melancholy.

She was slightly taller than Sameer, and her slender figure contrasted with his roundness. At 44, she displayed a graceful appearance, often tying her long, dark hair back in a loose bun to keep it out of the way as she managed the household and juggled her job.

Indira’s face was delicate, sharp, softened by a kind, ever-present smile. Even in the face of the many challenges she encountered, her eyes, a deep, warm brown, were filled with a quiet strength. Her skin, a tone lighter than Sameer’s, had a natural radiance similar to her unyielding spirit and the love she put into everything she did. 

She worked part-time as a hairdresser in a salon, balancing her job with the responsibility of raising their four children. Despite the financial strain, she managed to keep the home running smoothly, stretching their limited budget with her resourcefulness to cover all the essentials.

Sameer was still trapped in his thoughts when he heard Indira’s voice calling the children for dinner. He could smell that the traditional Indian “dal” was ready and set on the table.

Their four children were cheerful, bringing a constant energy to their small HDB flat. Lila, the eldest at eight, was a mirror image of her mother, with the same deep brown eyes and a slender build. She was a thoughtful child, often helping her mother in the kitchen or caring for her younger siblings. Jai, Lila’s twin brother, had a compact, strong build like his father, though his youthful energy made him seem almost weightless as he always dashed around the flat.

The youngest in the family were Arya and Kavi, four-year-old twins who filled the home with distinct personalities. Arya was the quieter of the two, with a small, delicate frame and wide, curious eyes that seemed to take in everything around her. Kavi, on the other hand, was a boy of infinite energy. His small, solid frame was constantly in motion as he explored every corner of their home.

“Sameer, dinner’s ready,” she called out, her warm voice making the small space feel like a huge home. She was in her element, moving between the stove and the counter with practiced ease. Although small, the kitchen was where Indira’s creativity shone brightest. She could turn the simplest ingredients into a meal that was nourishing and a source of comfort.

Despite the limited space in the family’s apartment, every corner exuded warmth and showed a busy, caring home. The cozy living room was the hub where the family members gathered each evening to unwind and bond with one another; the worn-out sofa silently witnessed shared moments over time. Simple Indian art pieces and cherished family photographs adorned the walls gracefully, while the humble coffee table, often covered with children’s toys and Indira’s magazines, displayed the marks of years of use. Just beyond, the dining area was tidy, with a well-worn wooden table that comfortably seated the family of six.

After dinner, the children were put into bed; the soft buzz of the ceiling fan in the small living room replaced their laughter and playful energy. Sameer and Indira sat across from each other at the dining table, the remains of their meal still dispersed about, plates with bits of rice, the empty serving dish of dal, and a half-finished cup of chai that had grown cold in Indira’s hands.

Sameer was unusually silent throughout dinner, lost in thoughts about the conversation he knew he had to have with his wife. 

Sensing his unease, Indira patiently waited, her eyes searching his face for a hint of what was troubling him.

Finally, with a deep breath, Sameer broke the silence: “Indira… Ishaan called me a while ago with some news from the office.”

She looked at him, her expression soft but concerned. “So, from the look on your face, I’m guessing you didn’t get the promotion?”

Sameer nodded slowly, struggling to find the right words. He had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times since Ishaan’s call, but now, sitting here with Indira, he felt so embarrassed that communicating it was impossible.

“I’m afraid that is correct. I didn’t get the promotion,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. The small room was filled with a palpable sense of disappointment.

Indira’s face fell, her eyes reflecting the sadness she felt for him. She reached across the table, placing her hand gently over his. “Oh, Sameer… I’m so sorry.”

Sameer looked down at their joined hands, feeling the warmth of her touch contrast with the cold knot of failure that had settled in his chest. “I really thought this time… this time it would be different,” -he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.- “I’ve worked so hard, Indira. I’ve given everything I have, and the company has made so much money thanks to me, and it’s still not enough.”

Indira squeezed his hand, her heart breaking for the man she loved. She knew how much this promotion meant to him—not just for the financial relief it would have brought, but for the validation he desperately needed. “You are enough, Sameer. You’ve always been enough,” -she said softly, her eyes filling with tears.- “This doesn’t change that.”

He shook his head, feeling the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface. “But it feels like it does. How can I look at the kids now?… How can I live with the idea that their father isn’t good enough to give them the life they deserve?… We discussed moving them to a better school or after-school sports activities, which is impossible without the extra money. I feel like in India… We were supposed to have a better life here! This was meant to be a fresh start, but after all this time… I feel stuck and powerless to change it.”

Indira leaned forward, her voice firm but filled with love. “Sameer, you have given us everything that matters. You’ve given us your love, your time, your dedication… The kids don’t care about activities or fancy schools; they care about you.”

Sameer’s eyes finally met hers, and in that moment, the tears he had been holding back began to fall. “I just wanted to give you all more, to make things easier,” he said, his voice breaking.

Indira stood and moved to his side, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. “You’ve given us more than you know, Sameer. To be happy, we don’t need more money or a bigger house.”

Sameer buried his face in her shoulder, allowing himself to be vulnerable in her arms. For a long moment, they remained in that position, holding each other in the quiet of their small dining room, the only sound being the distant ticking of the clock on the wall. In Indira’s arms, Sameer felt a spark of his lost strength, the warmth of her love slowly easing the ache in his heart.

When he finally pulled back, Indira gently brushed away the tears on his cheeks. “We’ll be okay, Sameer. Together, like we always do,” she whispered, her voice full of determination.

He nodded, finding comfort in her words. 

Sameer started feeling better as they cleared the table and turned off the lights. They walked to their small bedroom and continued discussing non-work-related matters until they fell asleep.

In Singapore, during winter mornings, you won’t feel the cold, but a gentle warm hug envelops the city in a misty humidity. The air is dense and weighty, with moisture from the sea. Frequently draped in lingering clouds, the sky wears a grey tone, softening the sunlight into a gentle diffused radiance that softly lights up the streets below. 

As the sun rises, the temperature remains in the mid-20s Celsius, considered cool by Singaporean standards, yet still warmer than most other places during winter. Occasionally, a soft breeze sporadically rustles through the air, carrying the familiar aroma of rain that often accompanies tropical climates in this region. The tranquil mornings in Singapore during winter generally provide a serene and unhurried beginning to the day. 

Sameer was already at his desk before his family had breakfast the following day. Typically, Indira would help the kids get ready for school while Sameer took care of their food, but that morning was different. He asked Indira to take care of everything. He wanted to talk to his boss as soon as she got connected. She promised him something, and he wanted some explanations.

Due to the company’s instability, Sameer has had five different bosses who didn’t dedicate much time to him in the past two years. They all followed a similar pattern: they were either quickly promoted or resigned, leaving all pending agreements with Sameer for the next person to handle.

His current manager was a young lady who also came from India. She had only been with the company for less than a year and was the one who offered Sameer the senior position if he delivered on time the projects she was leading. 

Sameer started chatting with her as soon as her avatar turned green on the screen. He overheard Indira and the children saying goodbye, but he focused on the conversation he was having. 

To his disappointment, during the twenty minutes they chatted, she completely ignored the promotion and focused only on the business. Another client demanded changes to their website design that were neither necessary nor practical but had to be made. 

He realized that he would have to talk to her face to face this time, so he told her that he would need to go to the office that day to resolve the issues with the client. That took her by surprise, but she agreed to it nonetheless.

Sameer always preferred practical and modest clothing, choosing muted tones and comfort over style. That morning, he wore a neatly pressed, button-down white shirt and slightly loose dark trousers. Though worn, his black shoes were polished, and white socks were peeking out from beneath the hems. A simple black belt held everything together, and a functional watch adorned his wrist. Sameer also wore a thin gold chain around his neck, a gift from his parents that he never removed.

As the day went on in Singapore, the air became more humid. The mist cleared away to show the greenery and colorful cityscape. The sun started to appear from behind the clouds, creating a play of light on the streets. By noon, the refreshing coolness of morning had transitioned into the warmth of the day. 

At around 10 a.m., Sameer left his apartment in Jurong East and headed to the office. He walked along the familiar path to the Jurong East MRT station, his feet moving almost automatically along the well-worn route. When he arrived at the MRT station, the atmosphere was more relaxed than just an hour earlier. The peak rush had passed, and now there was a steady stream of late commuters, retirees, and young mothers with strollers.

Sameer tapped his EZ-Link card at the entrance; the familiar beep signaled the start of his journey. He descended the escalator to the platform, feeling the cool air from the underground vents offering a brief relief from the warmth outside. The train arrived with a soft whoosh, its silver exterior gleaming under the station lights. Sameer boarded and found a seat near the window, grateful for the quieter ride this time of day offered.

As the train started moving, the city unfolded before him. He saw a mixture of towering HDB flats and manicured parks that dotted Singapore’s urban sprawl. The ride from Jurong East to Raffles Place in Singapore’s Central Business District (CBD) took him about 30 minutes, and he went through a mix of old and new neighborhoods. When he arrived at the station, Sameer quickly got off the train.

The walk to his office was short and pleasant—well-maintained pathways flanked by manicured lawns and clusters of trees offering shade. The modern buildings of the Central Business District stood tall and shining, which was very different from Jurong East.

As he neared the entrance of the office building, Sameer took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the day ahead. He hadn’t planned anything and was unsure if she would be available during the day, but he needed an explanation badly.

The WebWave Solutions office was a small but bustling space filled with energy and a constant sound of activity. It was located on the 10th floor of an aging building, very different from the elegant designs seen in glossy tech magazines. Here, the workstations were packed tightly together, with just enough room for employees to squeeze past one another as they navigated the messy aisles.

The majority of the employees were Indian, and they formed a close-knit group consisting of designers, developers, and support staff who had moved to Singapore in search of better opportunities. The atmosphere was lively, with conversations in Hindi, Chinese, Malay, and “Singlish,” which is a language that blends English with elements of Malay, Mandarin, Tamil, and various Chinese dialects, representing Singapore’s multicultural society.

Desks were filled with personal items such as family photos, small idols, and home snacks, adding warmth and familiarity to the crowded space. Papers, notebooks, and half-empty coffee cups filled every available surface, contributing to the sense of organized chaos that defined the place.

The few small private offices on one side of the room were occupied by the Singaporean locals, mostly managers and team leads. These bosses observed the team’s progress while remaining detached from the daily chaos.

The communal areas were small. The break area had a table squeezed into a corner, always messy with tea cups, biscuit wrappers, and newspapers from home. This space was always filled with lively conversations, as employees gathered to share a quick laugh or exchange news from back home before returning to work. 

In general, the office always had a strong aroma of curry and sweat.

Since Sameer was not part of the team that could work in the office, he did not have a desk. Therefore, he decided to arrive at the office just before noon to see which place was free to use. Luckily, he found one just in front of his boss’s desk.

Sameer sat at the free desk, his fingers moving mechanically over the keyboard as he spent hours tweaking colors, adjusting layouts, and reconfiguring navigation menus as per clients’ requests. All this work while a persistent voice in his mind whispered that none of it truly mattered.

At some point in the day, he saw Rajat walk past (who was promoted instead of him), chatting animatedly with his boss. Rajat was always like that: loud, confident, and pushing his ideas to the forefront. As Rajat’s laughter echoed across the room, Sameer felt a knot of frustration tighten in his chest. Was this what it took to succeed? Was all his hard work meaningless without the showmanship?

He kept glancing at his boss throughout the day as she engaged in meetings and phone calls, hoping for a pause in her schedule that would indicate she might be willing to talk. The hours passed slowly as Sameer observed his coworkers gradually leaving the office, leaving him feeling tired and fatigued. However, he couldn’t leave without getting an answer.

When the office was nearly empty, Sameer saw his opportunity. His boss stood up from her desk and went for coffee, looking anxious with a phone pressed to her ear. He waited until she finished the call, standing awkwardly by his desk as she returned to her place.

“Boss? ” he called out, his voice hesitant. 

She paused, turning to face him with a raised eyebrow.

 “Do you have a minute?”, he continued.

The young woman sighed softly and glanced at her watch. “Make it quick, Sameer. I have another conference call in a few minutes.”

He swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts and form words that would somehow convey the depth of his disappointment without sounding desperate. But it was difficult as he was nervous and embarrassed. “I wanted to ask about the promotion to the Senior Designer role. I heard someone else was chosen.”

Her expression shifted, a hint of guilt, perhaps, crossing her face before she masked it with her usual composed expression. “Yes, Sameer, that is correct. However, the decision wasn’t solely about the quality of work.”

Sameer’s heart pounded as he listened, the room shrinking around him as she continued.

“Management selected Rajat, who is on a different team than yours,” -she continued, choosing her words carefully.- “He has been instrumental in establishing new client relationships and has taken the initiative to lead some of our more original projects. The leadership team has observed his efforts to exceed the usual expectations—introducing new tools, offering fresh ideas in meetings, and generally expanding his role beyond the standard scope.”

“That is impressive, considering the short time he has been with the company,” remarked Sameer, a bit upset.

“Sameer… I understand that you’ve been working hard. However, it’s not just about time spent in the company; it’s also important to adapt to the business. Rajat’s approach is aligned with the company’s direction,” said the woman.

Sameer felt a cold weight settle in his chest. He had always been diligent and focused on perfecting his work. However, he had never been the type to push boundaries or seek out the spotlight. He worked within his role, delivering what he was asked, but it had never occurred to him that this might be seen as a lack of ambition. 

“I’ve always tried to ensure that everything is done correctly,” -he said, his voice a mix of confusion and hurt.- “I believed that consistency and dependability were appreciated.”

“And they are,” -she replied, her tone gentle but firm.- “The company is looking for leaders. It’s not that your work isn’t appreciated, but leadership is more than just doing the job well. It’s about driving change, anticipating needs, and sometimes stepping out of your comfort zone.”

Sameer nodded slowly, the realization sinking in. “I understand,” he said with a quiet voice.

She noticed he was about to leave and added, “You’re a valuable asset to the team, Sameer. Don’t forget that… Just keep doing what you’re doing, and remember the company is always looking for people who can take on more.”

Sameer noticed the subtle shift in her tone as if she were already strategizing her moves. 

“There will be other opportunities,” she finished. Still, her words seemed more like a way to steer the conversation away from his concerns and back to the larger picture.

As she glanced at her watch, the message became clear, their conversation was over. “I have to get ready for a call now,” she said almost as an afterthought.

Sameer nodded, feeling more disappointed than before. “Thank you, boss,” he said quietly, but the words felt distant. Turning, he returned to his desk, realizing that although it was painful to hear, the young woman had delivered a clear message. 

He couldn’t help but realize that he had never spent time getting to know her, and it was probably too late now. She was clearly a good manager, and according to the company’s perspective, she was excelling in her role and would probably be promoted soon.

As he returned to his home, Sameer kept reflecting on her words. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for, but it was the answer he had to accept. For hours, he had waited for an explanation that would make sense of everything he had worked for. But what he received was a reminder about how the corporate world worked.

He arrived home late, and his family had already finished dinner. Walking into the living room, he saw his children sitting at the small table, working on their homework. Lila, with her long dark hair tied in a neat ponytail, was deeply focused on her notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration. Jai, her twin brother, seemed less focused, dividing his attention between the math problems in front of him and a toy robot hidden under the table.

“Papa, can you help me with this?” Lila asked, looking up at him with her large, expressive eyes. She was the more studious of the two, always eager to learn and please. 

Sameer smiled, feeling a small surge of pride. “Of course, dear,” he said, sitting beside her. As he explained the math problem, he felt a momentary sense of peace. Helping his children with homework was one of the few times he felt useful, truly appreciated, respected, admired, and especially loved. 

When Sameer was with his family, he felt the warmth and comfort his workplace never provided. There were no hidden agendas, office politics, or sense of inadequacy. Unlike his office’s indifferent and calculated world, where he often felt invisible, he truly felt seen and appreciated at home.

“Papa, can we play after dinner?” Jai asked, his voice hopeful.

Sameer hesitated. There was still work to be done: emails to respond to and a presentation for his boss. However, the hopeful look in his son’s eyes made him push those thoughts aside. “Sure, we can play for a little while,” he agreed, ruffling Jai’s hair.

Indira joined the small table and asked the children to share their day at school with their father. Her eyes lit up as they recounted stories of playground adventures and classroom jokes. Sameer listened, trying to focus on the happiness in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to the due bills, the growing debt, and the lack of promotion at work. 

He started to feel miserable again, a failure for his family.

Every laugh, every innocent smile, was a painful reminder of what he felt he couldn’t provide. The joy on their faces emphasized the gap between what they deserved and what he could give them. Sameer’s heart ached from unfulfilled promises, fearing their laughter might fade into disappointment one day.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting them down. His inability to secure a promotion meant he failed as a provider, father, and husband. The thought of Indira silently accepting the burden of their finances, never once complaining, deepened his despair. He felt small, insignificant, and helpless despite their growing needs.

Sameer swallowed hard, forcing a smile as he continued to listen to their stories. Yet, inside, he felt crushed and broken. He wished he could be and do more, but all he could see was how he fell short.

After putting all the children to bed, Sameer found himself lingering in the quiet, messy living room, his mind filled with a mix of anxiety and despair. He couldn’t let this continue. The promotion he had hoped for was now a remote, painful memory, and with it went the last of his optimism about his current job.

He realized that something had to change. He needed to find a way to increase his income to cover the gaps that his salary at WebWave Solutions couldn’t fill. But what could he do? The long hours at his job didn’t leave much time for a second job. Indira, who remained optimistic about the economy, couldn’t work more hours at the salon because she had to take care of their young kids in the afternoon.

He thought about freelance projects, part-time work, weekend jobs, and even selling some of their belongings. However, none of these options seemed suitable or feasible. He required a more immediate solution to quickly lift them out of this dilemma. 

“What about something… different? Something like… trying our luck, maybe?” he thought, the idea of gambling with their future flickering in his mind.

And then, almost involuntarily, his mind wandered to the idea that had crossed his path before but which he had always dismissed as foolish: the lottery. It was absurd; he knew that. The odds were against him, and it was not a real solution, but in his desperation, it started to seem like a spark of hope, a quick fix that could, with one stroke of luck, solve all their problems.

The question “What if?” remained both attracting and dangerous. What if this could be their way out? What if, for once, fate was on his side? The thought began to take root subtly and insidiously as he considered how much of his limited income he could afford to risk on the remote chance that things might finally go their way.

That night, Sameer was lying in bed next to Indira, staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep. The idea of the lottery ticket nestled into his thoughts. He knew it was foolish, but it was also the only ray of hope he had left. In the darkness, he made a silent decision – he would try. It was a long shot, but it felt like the only shot he had right now. “I have nothing to lose,” he said in his thoughts, and with that, he fell asleep.

A few weeks went by, and on an evening after dinner, when Indira was cleaning up and the kids were getting ready for bed, Sameer headed to his desk. The gentle warmth of Singapore’s spring evening filtered through the open window, accompanied by the fragrant aroma of blooming frangipani and the gentle rustle of fresh leaves on the trees outside.

The lottery ticket in his drawer caught his eye. For the past four months, and in secret, Sameer had been buying tickets weekly, sometimes spending more money than he should have, convinced that a big win was coming. He felt hopeful whenever he bought lottery tickets and waited for the numbers to be drawn. This false hope motivated him and gave him the energy to continue his draining work. However, the disappointment was devastating when his ticket turned out to be worthless. 

Every time Sameer bought a lottery ticket, his heart quickened with the possibility of something more. He would stand in line at the convenience store, imagining what life could be like with that one winning number. However, each week, when the numbers didn’t match, the feeling of disappointment returned. Yet, he kept buying, holding to that last thread of hope. He was unable to let go of the idea that fortune might one day smile on him. He became addicted to this dream and was stuck in a vicious cycle.

Sameer sank into his chair and stared at the still-open client’s website on his computer screen. He felt particularly demotivated that day. His boss, who he had hoped would help him become more visible, had been moved to another position. His new boss, a Malay, seemed to have no patience and an apparent dislike toward Indian migrants.

He held that week’s lottery ticket in his hands, his mind filled with dreams of what he could do if he won. The possibilities seemed endless – clearing their debts, buying a larger home, going on holidays in India, purchasing a car, bringing their parents to live with them, and most importantly, giving the children opportunities they never had before, like attending an international school. He got drunk on the fantasies.

As Indira approached him silently, the old wood on the floor creaked slightly. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Sameer sitting at his desk, lost in thought. She noticed the lottery ticket gripped in his hand, and her heart dropped. She had seen the hopeful look in his eyes before, the quiet desperation that seemed to take hold of him more and more lately. But tonight, there was something different, something more intense in the way he held that small piece of paper.

“Sameer?,” -she called softly, her voice tinged with concern.- “What are you doing?”

Sameer was pushed out of his trance, surprised by her sudden presence. He quickly attempted to stash the lottery ticket away, but Indira had already noticed it. As she walked closer, her brows furrowed, and she reached out to gently take his hand, the ticket still gripped between his fingers.

“Is this…?” she asked, her voice trailing off as she realized what it was. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his for answers.

Sameer sighed, unable to meet her look. “Indira, I’m just… I’m trying to make things better for us,” -he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt and longing.- “I thought maybe if we got lucky, we could get out of this mess.”

Indira’s heart ached as she listened to him. She knew under how much pressure he was but hadn’t realized how deep it had gone. “Sameer,” -she said softly, but her tone had an edge of worry;- “How much have you been spending on these tickets?”

He hesitated, the truth caught in his throat. He didn’t want to tell her, but he couldn’t lie. “Just a little each week,” he said, trying to downplay it, though he knew it wasn’t entirely true. 

Indira’s expression was sad. “Sameer, we can’t afford to spend money on this. These tickets are not cheap; you are buying the ones that cost a lot of money. We have bills to pay and the kids to take care of. This is irresponsible.”

“I know, Indira, but what if…?” He began, but she gently interrupted him, her hands cupping his face, forcing him to look at her.

Indira held the crumpled ticket in her hand, her fingers tracing the numbers. She wanted to be angry and discipline Sameer for his recklessness. But as she looked at his tired face, the shadow of failure in his eyes, her anger faded, replaced by an aching sadness. 

How many times had he carried their family’s burdens alone? How many nights had he worked late, hoping for a way out? Indira’s heart ached for him, but she couldn’t let him keep chasing dreams built on illusions. “Sameer,” -she whispered- “are we not enough? You don’t need this.”

He remained silent.