WHEN YOU HEAL

10 AM

Sana's finger fumbled and slid across her vibrating phone's screen. Whether it stood on a nightstand or rang elsewhere, the presence of an alarm tapped on her nervous system.

She repeated the gesture every five minutes the reminder went off as she opted for a snooze instead of pressing on ignore. All Sana had that Tuesday morning on her schedule was a Zoom call at 9 AM GMT or 10 AM CET.

Ten.

Ten.

What time was it?

She glanced at her phone screen.

"Shit."

The reminder was not hers but the one set in her Outlook calendar for the meeting.

Sana sprung out of bed, ran to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, quickly washed her face. It was not like they could tell she did not shower. She tied her hair in a ponytail, returned to her room, picked a clean tee, dashed to her desk, and connected to her Zoom.

"Good morning, everyone. I hope you are well," the CEO said.

The new global approach to keep the teams engaged and connected consisted of scheduling virtual meetings and conferences throughout the week. One could handpick some calls like a lunch menu; others were mandatory, like the one programmed on Sana's day off.

Of course, Sana was one of the nobodies at the bottom of the power pyramid but high enough in her hierarchy to count as present and set standards. Thus she joined the virtual Noah's ark, where one of the most capitalist companies worldwide revived its concerns for its employees and the world.

Keela scrolled through the gallery of webcams as one would walk through college halls to find her friend.

PM from Keela Willis: Your tee is back to front.🤦‍♀️

Reply to Keela Willis: How do you know?

PM from Keela Willis: It's inside out. I can see the label.

"Shit."

During that time, Lee's eyes also glided through the attendee's live mugshots. He enjoyed playing who's-who and watching what people connected did during the Zoom calls in proper voyeur mode.

Privacy, the Internet changed the game. Friends, family, and co-workers, everyone spied on someone daily.

The playground: Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or for professionals like them Linkedin.

The attendee's cameras offered live streaming of their interior on the Zoom. Lee sought to find something to make him feel he did not sacrifice his slumber in vain.

- Something like someone who forgot to mute their microphone.

- Someone who believed in having a virtual background, but everyone could see their cluttered home and their partner in their Superman trunks or, even better, a fool who believed their camera was off while they put their tee the right way around.

"And the winner is," Lee read her name, "Sana Gulati."

Not a Zoom professional, Sana's camera remained on for any one of the three hundred or so attendees to see her Lilac and black polka dot Monki bralette as she passed her arm in her tee and squashed her boobs down with the fabric.

PM from Keela Willis: ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?

Reply from Sana Gulati:?

PM from Keela Willis: Your camera is still on, idiot.

"Oh shit."

Lee was about to slide back on his chair when he received a private message.

PM from Micheal Gulliams: Did you see that?🤣😭😂😭

Reply to Micheal Gulliams: Yeah, Sana Gulati.

PM from Micheal Guliams: Do you remember?

Reply to Micheal Gulliams: What?

PM from Micheal Gulliams: Last year's autumn conference at HQ.

Reply to Micheal Gulliams: Yeah, why?

PM from Micheal Gulliams: Beer face.🍺

Reply to Micheal Gulliams: What, you mean, it's her?

PM from Micheal Guliams: Yep, it's her.

Lee chuckled; his fingers never typed so fast. He was on the verge of sending his message when his cat Konbini jumped on his lap.

"Move, Konbini," said the man who pushed the cat off his knees and pressed send without giving his message a second thought.

Lee expected an avalanche of laughing emojis from Micheal. Instead, he received.

PM from Sana Gulati: Well, you know what this XL feminist says to you.

Yes, Lee received his emoji, a storm of caramel-toned middle fingers rained down on his chatbox.

Lee checked the private message he sent.

Sana Gulati came just before Micheal Gulliams on the mailing list. A slipping finger was the only culprit and explanation possible for his error, or was it?

Konbini meowed, "darn cat, it's your fault."

Lee stared back at his screen and reread his message:

PM to Sana Gulati: Geez, the girl did an Adele body revert, Slim girl went fat vs. Fat girl gone slim. She's probably one of those vegan for life free my nipples XL body-positive lesbian feminists always craving for attention. Like, look at me, I won't shave my legs for the next decade or wear deodorant; body odor is fantastic. 🤮🤬😤

It was harsh, immature, out of order, rude, homophobic, sexist, to say the least. And not something one would expect from a regional manager.

Sana would probably report him, and it would be legit.

What would people think?

The reflection did not affect him the slightest, as most already tagged him as an asshole. Lee did everything imaginable to forge his jerk turtle shell. He went from the respectable family man image to earning the despicable Ted degree with the highest marks within a year.

All the women who saw his divorce as a perfect opportunity to console the man got stung by Lee's theories on how women were a diabolical species born to plunder men. According to Lee, Eve took a rib from Adam to bash him with it.

Women were liars, cheaters, manipulators who used bosom and pussy to trap men.

How many kingdoms, governments, and families fell because of women?

Menelaus of Sparta, Bill Clinton, Braveheart all perished because of the heat and tightness of the wretches' crotches.

Yes, Lee Cook was a newly baptized misogynist, proud to stand alone under his flag.

Bitter, salty, and slightly tangy, the man sincerely did not feel an ounce of guilt.

Lee had his defense ready in two sentences.

"Hey, no one told her to read it. Didn't someone ever tell her not to open DMs from a stranger?"