Still Choosing You
Book 1 Chapter 6 — Scene 2: THE COMPARISON
The conversations started before lunch.
Not openly.
Not loudly.
Just quietly enough to travel across the office.
Daniel heard fragments while reviewing a report.
"They're comparing teams now."
"I saw the ranking sheet."
"Our numbers weren't even bad."
"Apparently not good enough."
The voices came and went.
Some near the printer.
Some beside the pantry.
Some during short walks between desks.
Nobody sounded angry.
Mostly uncertain.
And uncertainty spread faster than complaints.
By early afternoon, another meeting invitation appeared.
Department Performance Alignment.
Thirty minutes.
Attendance required.
Several employees noticed it at the same time.
A few exchanged looks.
Nobody said much.
The meeting room filled again.
This time smaller.
Only Daniel's department.
The manager stood near the screen.
A spreadsheet already projected behind him.
Rows of names.
Rows of figures.
Rows of percentages.
Daniel immediately recognized the format.
Performance comparisons.
The manager began.
"I want everyone to understand where we stand."
A click.
The spreadsheet enlarged.
The room grew noticeably quieter.
Different teams appeared side by side.
Response rates.
Completion times.
Backlog numbers.
Productivity measurements.
Everything converted into rankings.
Everything visible.
Everything comparable.
The manager pointed toward the screen.
"This team achieved solid results."
Several people relaxed slightly.
Then came the next sentence.
"But other teams achieved better."
The room settled again.
The manager clicked forward.
Another comparison.
Another ranking.
Another list.
Every improvement seemed followed by someone performing better.
Every achievement came with another benchmark.
Every success appeared temporary.
Daniel watched the reactions around him.
Some employees sat straighter.
Some took notes.
Others stared at the screen without writing anything.
The comparisons continued.
Team A.
Team B.
Team C.
Department averages.
Regional averages.
Quarterly averages.
The numbers never stopped.
The manager folded his hands.
"The company wants consistency."
Nobody responded.
"The gap between top performers and everyone else needs to narrow."
A pause.
Then:
"We need to compete at a higher level."
The words weren't aggressive.
That somehow made them heavier.
Because nobody could argue with them.
The meeting ended shortly afterward.
Employees stood slowly.
Chairs rolled back.
Laptops closed.
Conversations waited until they reached the hallway.
Then they began immediately.
"Did you see Team B's numbers?"
"They have more staff."
"Apparently that doesn't matter."
"They're comparing completely different workloads."
Someone laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because there wasn't much else to do.
Daniel returned to his desk.
The office looked the same.
The same rows of monitors.
The same grey carpet.
The same fluorescent lights.
Yet the atmosphere felt different from a month ago.
Before, everyone focused on their own work.
Now people noticed each other's numbers.
Their own performance no longer felt isolated.
It felt measured against everyone else.
A notification appeared on Daniel's screen.
New reporting requirements.
Effective immediately.
He opened the document.
Additional tracking.
Additional metrics.
Additional weekly updates.
Nothing impossible.
Just more.
Always more.
Across the aisle, Marcus leaned back in his chair.
"You think they're preparing for something?"
Daniel looked up.
"What do you mean?"
Marcus lowered his voice.
"I don't know."
He glanced around briefly.
"Just feels different lately."
Daniel followed his gaze.
Several employees were working quietly.
Far quieter than usual.
The office had become careful.
People spoke less casually.
Laughed less easily.
Checked emails more often.
Marcus shook his head.
"Maybe I'm imagining it."
"Maybe."
But neither sounded convinced.
Marcus turned back toward his monitor.
The conversation ended there.
Not because they had answers.
Because they didn't.
Daniel looked at his screen again.
The new reporting requirements remained open.
The performance comparisons remained fresh in his mind.
For the first time in years, effort alone no longer felt reassuring.
There was always another comparison.
Another ranking.
Another target.
Another team doing better.
The work itself hadn't changed.
His confidence in it had.
By late afternoon, the office settled into silence once more.
Keyboards clicked.
Emails arrived.
Reports accumulated.
And somewhere beneath the routine, a new feeling continued growing.
Not exhaustion.
Not frustration.
Insecurity.
The kind that arrived when people stopped asking whether they were doing well.
And started wondering whether they were doing enough.
Scene-by-scene release. Continue only when the next scene is ready.