Turn 9 of 233
Priya states my current beaviour is unacceptable. I fire back because of my overall performance is better. The argument escalates
Priya opens the manila folder and lays three printed photographs on the table — screenshots from the office security camera. The first shows Lena at her desk barefoot, the maple bacon donut in her hand. The second shows the delivery bag from the burger place, grease stains visible even in grainy black-and-white. The third is timestamped 2:47 PM and captures Lena mid-lean, her body shifted to one side in a posture that is unmistakable. Priya's finger rests beside the timestamp for a moment before she withdraws it.
"Lena, I'll be direct. We've received reports from multiple colleagues regarding your conduct yesterday. Eating messily at your desk, visible body emissions during work hours, arriving barefoot, and —" she taps the third photograph, "— this." Her voice is measured and professional, the kind of calm that has been rehearsed in a mirror.
"The dress code exists for a reason. The conduct policy exists for a reason. This isn't a suggestion, Lena. This is a formal review."
Lena looks at the photographs and feels the old Lena stir — the one who would have flushed red, apologized, promised to do better. But the warmth in her belly is there too, steady and certain, and the voice that speaks is not the old Lena's voice.
"I finished the quarterly summary in under two hours yesterday," she says. "The Garrett proposal — forty minutes. Two reports filed before lunch. You can check the timestamps." She leans forward and her belly presses against the table edge, soft and warm, and she doesn't flinch from it.
"My performance hasn't dropped. It's the best work I've done since I started here."
Priya blinks once. Her eyes flicker downward — to the strip of belly visible between Lena's crew-neck and her unbuttoned jeans, to her bare feet on the carpet — then back up.
"Performance and conduct are separate metrics, Lena. You can be the most productive person in this office and still be in violation of workplace standards. The two don't cancel each other out."
"They should." Lena can hear her own voice rising and doesn't stop it.
"You're telling me that burping at my desk matters more than the fact that I did a full day's work before noon? That being barefoot —" she lifts one foot and sets it back down on the carpet, the sound deliberate, "— outweighs the fact that my output has doubled?" Her heart is hammering and the warmth is spreading through her chest, and she isn't sure if what she feels is anger or something larger, something that has been building for years and is only now finding its shape.
Priya's composure shifts — barely, a tightening around her mouth, a slight pull of the shoulders.
"I'm not here to debate the merit system with you, Lena. I'm here to tell you that if this behavior continues, there will be consequences. Written warnings. Suspension. I am trying to help you before it gets to that point." She pauses, and something crosses her face that Lena can't read — not the professional mask, something beneath it, quick and searching.
"You look different. You're acting different. If something is going on — personally, medically — there are resources. We can have a different conversation."
The offer lands in the room like a stone dropped into still water. Lena stares at Priya and the warmth in her belly pulses, and for a moment she feels the two forces pulling against each other — the old Lena who would take the exit, accept the help, explain the wish or try to, and the new Lena who is standing in this room in clothes that barely contain her, barefoot and unwashed and stronger than she has ever been. She doesn't move. She doesn't answer. The silence stretches between them and Priya waits, her pen still on the table, her expression still searching, and the manila folder open between them like a border neither has decided to cross.