I was just trying to help a little. - Kai Lin

Kai Lin and Deborah were hired as temporary staff of an organisation at the same time. They were assigned to work closely together on various projects.

Over the first few weeks, Deborah began to tell Kai Lin of her unfortunate circumstances.

Her grandfather was unwell and the family could not pay the medical bills. Her brother was unemployed and depressed. Her mother was working very long hours and barely making ends meet in her laborious job.

Kai Lin felt sympathetic. She began to buy Deborah meals. "Don't worry about it," she would say when Deborah offered to pay her back. "I know things are tight for you."

Then Deborah began to ask for small amounts of money. Twenty dollars here. Thirty dollars there. Kai Lin readily handed it over. These were small sums, and Deborah clearly needed help.

But the requests grew. Soon Deborah was asking for hundreds of dollars at a time.

Kai Lin hesitated. This felt different. This was significant money.

Deborah noticed the hesitation. She pleaded. "I promise to return the money as soon as possible. You know my situation. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate."

Kai Lin felt trapped. They were working closely together every day. She wanted to maintain a positive connection. Saying no might make things awkward. Uncomfortable even.

She transferred the money.

More requests came. Each time, Deborah promised repayment. Each time, the repayment never materialised.

Kai Lin began to dread seeing Deborah's name pop up on her phone. Was it about work? Or another request?

Their temporary contracts were coming to an end.

Kai Lin realised: She might never see that money again.

Who will believe me? - Jordan

Jordan was exhilarated when he was selected for a management training scheme at his pharmaceutical company. This was a huge opportunity.

His assigned mentor, Prof Bee, had been in the organisation for over a decade. Jordan was looking forward to learning from him.

But Prof Bee was slow to respond to Jordan's queries. Days would pass before Jordan receives brief, vague replies. His guidance was non-committal. "Just handle it as you see fit." "Use your judgment."

Jordan tries again. He sends detailed questions. He asks for meetings. The responses remain the same: Slow, vague, unhelpful.

Not wanting to create a fuss or seem difficult, Jordan begins to manage challenges on his own. He figures things out. He makes decisions without guidance because guidance never comes.

Then an incident occurs. Something goes wrong on a project Jordan was handling.

Senior management questions Prof Bee about Jordan's progress.

Prof Bee tells them he was not aware of what had happened. He positions himself as being kept in the dark.

Senior management assesses the situation: Jordan had insisted on working independently. He had poor communication skills. He was difficult to mentor.

Prof Bee does not contradict this conclusion. He nods along, perhaps even adds a sympathetic comment. "I tried to guide him, but you know how some trainees are."

Jordan sits in the meeting, stunned. His attempts to communicate, his unanswered messages, his requests for guidance… all of it reframed as him being uncooperative.

He opens his mouth to defend himself, then closes it.
Who would they believe? A trainee or a professor with a decade at the company?

Should I have known better? - Kim

Kim graduates with a masters in finance and was selected to be part of a management training programme. She was proud. This was the start of her career.

The head of department brings his team members, including Kim, to an afterwork drinking session. It was compulsory, he says. "Part of your training to interact with high net-worth clients. You need to know how to handle these situations."

Kim feels uneasy but complies. This was her boss. This was training.

The drinks keep coming. Kim becomes drunk, far more intoxicated than she intends.

The head of department offers to send her home. "You're in no state to get back on your own."

Kim tries to provide her address but the words come out jumbled. She cannot speak coherently.

He takes her back to his home instead.

There, he takes advantage of her. Later, he claims she gave consent.

Kim has no memory of doing so. She was so inebriated that she cannot be certain of anything that happened. The night exists only in fragments: Blurred images, disconnected moments.

What she knows for certain: She was too drunk to give meaningful consent. She was vulnerable. He was her superior. And he made a choice.

Kim sits in her flat the next morning, trying to piece together what happened. Shame and confusion wash over her.

Was this her fault? Should she have refused the drinks? Should she have insisted on going home?

But he was her boss. It was "compulsory training." How was she supposed to say no?

I thought she was on my side. - Pooja

Pooja and Katherine were members of a professional organisation. Katherine led the special interest group they both belonged to.

Although Katherine held the official title, Pooja was perceived as possessing influence and informal leadership. Members of the group often deferred to her perspectives. Her ideas carried weight.

One day, Pooja fell out with another group member. The conflict was painful and messy. After much thought, Pooja approached Katherine privately.

"I need to share what happened," Pooja said, walking Katherine through the situation carefully. "I'm going to take some time out from the group to heal. I wanted you to know why."

Katherine listened, nodding with apparent understanding. "Thank you for telling me. Take the time you need."

In Pooja's absence, the group continued to meet. And Katherine began to share what Pooja had told her… selectively.

She left out context. She omitted Pooja's perspective. She shared just enough to paint an incomplete picture.

Members filled in the gaps with assumptions. "Well, if Pooja did that, then maybe..." "I always wondered about her approach..." The conclusions formed quickly, built on a shaky foundation of partial truths.

Katherine didn't correct the inaccuracies. Instead, she added her own reservations. "I've had my concerns about how Pooja handles things too."

The ground was set. By the time decisions were made about the group's direction, the perspective had solidified. And it was disadvantageous to Pooja.

When Pooja eventually returned, she walked into a room that had already made up its mind about her.

Am I the problem? - Kumar

Kumar was a manager entering a new department, set for promotion. He was eager to learn and contribute.

When Kumar asked his new colleagues, who held the same designation, for information he needed to get up to speed, they would nod agreeably. "Sure, I'll send that over."

But the information wouldn't come. Kumar would wait a few days, then follow up. "Just checking if you got a chance to send those files?"

"Oh, right! Sorry, slipped my mind."

Weeks would pass. Multiple reminders. The information would finally arrive, often too late to be useful.

Once, when Kumar was running late to a meeting, a colleague gestured helpfully. "Sit there, that seat's free."

Kumar sat down, grateful. Then he noticed the looks. Subtle glances of disapproval from their boss, a shift in the room's energy. He had sat in a seat reserved for senior leadership.

His colleague laughed it off afterwards. "Just a joke, mate! You should've known better."

Kumar felt his face burn.

His colleagues would also make comments about his learning style. When Kumar asked questions to understand new processes, they would exchange glances. "That's a very... unique way of thinking about it." The tone was light, but the message was clear: You're not catching on fast enough.

The constant barrage of overt and veiled negative comments wore Kumar down. He found it harder to focus. His confidence eroded. Tasks that should have been straightforward felt overwhelming.

His peers noticed his struggles. "Kumar's just not cutting it," they would say to each other, shaking their heads. "Maybe he's not ready for this level."

Kumar sat alone in his office one evening, wondering: Was it him? Or was something else going on?

I thought we were friends at work. - Ravi

Ravi and Aisyah were supervisors from sister departments, working hand-in-hand on common projects with their teams. The success of one team depended on the success of the other.

The two supervisors would often lunch together. Over shared meals, they talked candidly about work pressures, difficult team members, and personal matters. Ravi felt they had built something beyond professional courtesy. A real friendship.

One day, Ravi shared news that surprised Aisyah. "I'm leaving the company. I've accepted another role." He paused. "I don't think I'll be coming back."

Aisyah nodded, offered polite congratulations, and they parted ways.

After Ravi left, the lunches stopped. Aisyah never reached out. No messages. No calls. Ravi tried once or twice, but the responses were brief and cold.

Then Ravi heard something that stung even more. Through a mutual colleague, he learned that Aisyah had been speaking poorly of him at work. Aisyah told remaining colleagues and their bosses that Ravi's work ethics had been questionable. That her own management style was far superior. That she had been carrying the partnership all along.

Ravi stared at his phone, confused and hurt. Had their friendship meant nothing? Or had it never been a friendship at all?