Life Of Raheel Awan

Previously

…“Almost, Brenda! Just… coaxing the beast,” I’d reply, my face buried in the machine’s mechanical guts, praying for a miracle. My manager, Mr. Henderson, was a man whose personality seemed to have been permanently bleached out by the office lighting. He was a creature of habit, his days a meticulous symphony of spreadsheets and predictable pronouncements. He communicated primarily through terse emails and the occasional, soul-crushing sigh. My attempts to inject a little… me… into the proceedings were met with a blank stare that suggested he was contemplating the vast emptiness of the universe