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Ben
The rhythmic clattering of keys and the low murmur of focused conversation filled the air as I sat at my workstation, my eyes flitting across the screen as lines of code danced under my scrutiny. Occasionally, I glanced up at the whiteboard in the front center of our open workspace, covered in diagrams, flowcharts, and mathematical equations—a testament to engineering minds at work.
But my attention quickly returned to my current project, writing code for oil refineries visualization databases.
Thrilling? Not really, but as a software engineer at CodeCraft, one of Austin’s more established coding firms, I thrived in this bustling environment. The constant buzz of activity invigorated me. We were a diverse group, each one bringing their unique set of skills and perspectives to the table. We supported each other, bounced ideas off one another, and pushed each other to achieve our best work.
But as much as I loved the collaborative nature of our work, I also cherished the moments of solitude and in those quiet times that I truly found my flow, my mind fully engaged in the code before me.
The world around me faded away, and all that mattered was the logic and elegance of the code I was crafting.
“Hey Ben, were you the one that caught that bug in the data analytics API yesterday?” Daniella, one of my coworkers at CodeCraft asked, leaning on the edge of my desk, grinning.
“That was me, yes.” I looked away from my screen to peer at her and I smiled, a hint of humor warming my naturally deep voice. “Just had to rewrite some SQL queries. No big deal,” I added with a wry smirk.
Daniella grinned back at me, pushing a stray tendril of brown hair behind her ear. “Man, you’re a lifesaver. I thought my team was going to scrap and start over again. I owe you one at the next team happy hour.” She patted my shoulder before moving away and back to her workstation.
I smiled to myself, with no small sense of pride at the praise. In the three years that I had been at CodeCraft, I had made a name for myself as a workhorse, the guy who got the job done.
It wasn’t always glamorous or exciting work, but I made a good living and drove home each night satisfied with my accomplishments.
The paycheck wasn’t bad either.
But the morning’s satisfaction was short-lived. My phone chimed, interrupting my concentration and demanding attention like a petulant child. Glancing down, I saw Marco’s name flash on the screen.
Oops. I had forgotten to call Marco yesterday when I got home. This was probably him reminding me that I was a terrible boyfriend.
Too late—I already knew that.
Everyone knew that, I thought to myself as I swiped to read his message.
Marco: Ben, I don’t think this is going anywhere. It’s over.
I narrowed my eyes, as if that would make the words on the screen clearer. “Hmmm. A text breakup.”
I reread the words over again, trying to make sense of what had happened. Even though we had only been together for two months, I had thought that things were going well.
Well, they had been going okay.
Sure, it wasn’t an epic romance for the ages, but I hadn’t expected that Marco would break up with me so abruptly.
The disappointment wasn’t so much in the relationship ending, but in the method of delivery—the impersonality of a digital goodbye. Add to that—it wasn’t like I was out there cheating on Marco or hitting up other guys on Grindr. My job sometimes demanded 80-hour weeks, with late nights that left me bleary-eyed over my keyboard. I was twenty-eight years old and trying to get ahead in a competitive business.
I had always believed that you had to work hard to play hard.
If Marco couldn’t handle that, then fuck that guy.
A sardonic smile played on my lips as I tapped out a thumbs-up emoji, screenshot the messages, then deleted Marco’s number. Bye, asshole.
Suddenly laughter burst from me, dry and a touch bitter, disrupting the office’s usual symphony of typing and murmurs. Heads turned in surprise, but I waved them off, returning to my code with renewed focus, somehow feeling lighter, free from that obligation.
At least I could move on now, no longer held back by a relationship that was clearly going nowhere. Besides, if I wanted a shot at management, I needed to focus on work.
There would be time to fall in love later.
I’d watched a TED Talk on productivity once, and the speaker had mentioned that he never ate at his desk, so I made it my mantra as well. When lunchtime rolled around, I headed to the lounge and found a table. After sticking my leftover spaghetti in the microwave, I pulled out my phone and sent the screenshots from Marco’s text message to Leo Brinkley, my best friend.
