Syntax Of Us

The Broken Code

He was sitting still, against his computer. The words "Please just go away" staring back at him.  His fingers were frozen over his keyboard.

His text followed by her text was supposed to be a reply which read "I am sorry Clara but please tell me what happened?" now highlighted in red and in the bottom of it was the warning which said that the text could not be delivered which meant Clara had blocked him. That warning just fueled into his frustration.

The scene remained unchanged until his machine decided to hibernate after he didn't do any activity. As the screen went dark, he saw the reflection of him. His calmness in it was a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil he was going through from inside. It was eating him away.

Finally he decided to move. Peter stood up from his chair. Their last conversation replaying in his head. Clara, who once enjoyed listening to his rants about why he thought OOP just adds a layer of bureaucracy, just like him, and how much he hated people who compared two different programming languages made to do different jobs and Clara would listen to him like he was the only person that mattered.

But Today she didn't come with the same warmth within her. Her texts were cold, dry, and too much delayed it almost felt like she was gone. When Peter pointed that out, she replied "You're too much Peter, and now I am tired of it"...too much... Those words still stung to him.

Peter didn't know what she meant, what did he do to look like that he is really "too much" that one day you leave so mercilessly. He knew how to debug code, but not himself.

He couldn't stop wondering as he roamed in his room at midnight, the time when He and Clara would talk about their day.

A lot of things come to his mind.

"Am I really too much? Have I been mean to her? I don't want her to think that, not in this world or... Clara had an affair and she wanted to end everything? No way, she is not like those girls, and I must have done something stupid... But even if I did... She could have simply told me, it might have been better than blocking me away... I need to talk to her"

He immediately sets a plan for tomorrow. Peter thought that he will reach Clara's apartment by early evening when she wakes up from her noon nap and will think more clearly while talking to him about the matter.

The time comes and he was ready to meet her. He gives himself a final look on the mirror and walks out of his apartment. Clara's apartment building wasn't very far from Peter's but he was impatient and the anxiousness was driving him crazy.

He finally reaches the apartment building where Clara lived. It was a tall building and from the look of it, anyone could tell that people who lived here didn't live a normal life.

Before he could enter the building, an authoritative voice shoots at him from his side, it almost startled Peter and he immediately looked where it came from and he sees a security guard who looked at him like he was some thief yet his tone was calm.

"Where are you going? You don't seem to belong here."

"I came here to meet Clara, sh--"  Before he could complete, the gateman cuts him

"She has informed us to not let anyone meet her except for one person"

Peter was a little confused, but not very surprised. Clara must be upset from him so she must have restricted his entry. But who is that one person? Peter didn't want to make a scene here so he just walks back. He didn't want to go back to his apartment. He wanted to clear up his mind. When he was aimlessly roaming around, he stops against a small cafe.

That cafe was in an abandoned street, pretty lonely just like him. He decided to enter and walks inside. The aroma of burned coffee beans fills his nostrils. He saw a few people who were lost in themselves, just like him. Peter gives his order in the reception and then walks to the table in the corner and sits down. The couch was comfy and for a second, he felt he was at peace and then his phones vibrated. It was a notification for an email.

He unlocks his phone to read it. It was an invitation for a hackathon organized next week. He thinks about it, and then he submits the form. He thought it can be a good opportunity for feeling a little better and move on.

The pain still lingers, the same questions, self doubt, and confusion was still eating him from inside. 

As he sipped his coffee, his phone buzzed again — another email, but this one wasn't about a hackathon. The sender's name made his stomach drop...