Glass Breakage II (Short Story)

Fatma had tried to convince herself the previous evening’s sight was merely an illusion of light; but some images did not fade with the night—they became even sharper in the morning. The crack was more distinct under the office’s first light. It had neither stretched nor shortened. It seemed to have simply decided to reveal itself. No one spoke of it. Cleaners wiped desks, coffee machines warmed up, employees swiped their cards and entered. The company had begun the new day like a flawless machine.

That morning, Fatma observed people more closely. It was as if she were no longer in an office but backstage in a theater, where everyone was absorbed in delivering their lines perfectly. Mrs. Gülçin had taken her seat with her usual measured grace. Sinan appeared jovial as he fetched his morning coffee. Not a single face showed the faintest shadow that anything was wrong in the world. Yet Fatma now believed that the error lay not in faces but in the system itself.

That afternoon, she spoke with Semih.

Semih was one of those people who had mastered invisibility within the company. It was said he could be found on any floor, yet he never appeared on any official list. He was said to handle archives, sometimes seen in IT, occasionally spotted retrieving a folder from a manager’s desk. Most people did not know exactly what he did, but in every company there are such individuals; they do not appear in the official organizational chart, yet they are the silent voids that reveal how things truly work.

Fatma found him alone in the small kitchen on the lower floor, filling his tea. Here, the glass was replaced by matte surfaces, and the scent of corporate life by the ordinary steam of brewed tea. Perhaps for this reason, Fatma felt for the first time as if she were truly about to speak with another human being.

“May I ask you something?” she said.

Semih did not look up from his tea. “Everyone here asks something,” he said. “What changes is whether they get an answer.”

This sentence felt more honest to Fatma than any polished phrase she had ever heard in the company.

“I saw a file the other day,” she said. “I know I didn’t imagine it.”

Semih stirred his spoon once inside the cup. The thin metallic sound rang unnaturally clear in the kitchen’s silence.

“In human resources?”

Fatma did not answer immediately. The mere fact that someone else had guessed the right place without her saying it was frightening enough.

“Yes.”

Semih nodded. He did not look surprised—only weary, as if he had just seen an ancient text placed before him once again.

“What did it say?” he asked.

Fatma whispered the word this time.

“Death records.”

Semih picked up his tea but did not drink. His eyes drifted for a moment to the kitchen door.

“They told you no such file exists, didn’t they?” he said.

Fatma’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

“So they accepted part of it and left the rest for you to imagine.”

Fatma looked at him. For the first time, Semih turned his face fully toward her. There was no panic, no comfort in his expression—only the dull clarity of someone who knew a truth, long hidden, could no longer be concealed.

“I’ve worked here a long time,” he said. “Long time here is not seniority—it’s evidence. The file you saw is not a record of what has happened. It is the list of what will happen.”

Fatma said nothing.

“At first, I misunderstood too,” Semih said. “Everyone does. First you think it’s a cold corporate joke. Then a poorly chosen term. Then a highly classified risk management project. You save the real meaning for last—because if you accept it from the start, you cannot keep working here.”

“What does that mean?” Fatma asked.

Semih took a small sip of tea. “The company’s work,” he said, “whatever it is, it values something more: continuity. No one here plans for people. They plan for positions. And they remove early anyone who threatens continuity.”

“Remove?”

“Human resources is not as innocent as its name suggests,” he said. “They protect the source, not the person. People here do not disappear—they are withdrawn from files.”

***

TO BE CONTINUED