I thought ‘return it when you can' was clear enough. - Ming

Ming's business was thriving. Life was good.

When he saw his sister juggling postgraduate education and part-time work to pay her tuition, he offered to help with her school fees. "You can return the money when you have a job," he said.

She was grateful and relieved.

When she experienced harassment while on public transport, Ming offered to help with the downpayment for a car. "You need to be safe," he told her.

Ming also helped his wife's family when his in-laws lost the roof over their heads. He provided the downpayment for an apartment. They had nowhere else to go, and he had the means to help.

Years passed. Ming's business became volatile. The steady profits dried up. Cash flow became tight. He needed to pull back on expenses and shore up his reserves.

Ming reached out to his sister, who had progressed well in her career, and his in-laws, who were now in good financial positions. "I need to ask for the money back," he said. "Things are tough right now."

They were surprised. "We thought you gave us the money," they said. "You never said these were loans."

Ming protested. "I said you could return it when you were able. That implies a loan."

They shook their heads. "It wasn't clear that the money transferred were loans."

They pointed out that they had shown gratitude and appreciation over the years. Gifts, snacks, birthday presents. Hadn't that been enough?

Besides, they argued, Ming was not in sufficiently dire straits. Unlike his in-laws' situation back then, Ming had not lost his apartment. Additionally, Ming's wife was a working professional and should be able to support his basic living costs.

"We have other essential expenditure," they explained. "Family trips. Dining at restaurants. The children's enrichment classes. We don't have spare cash right now."

Ming sat in stunned silence.

I gave because I thought we were family. - Ammera

Ammera was a single lady in her forties when she befriended a three-generational family. She began to have family meals with them regularly. The warmth of their home filled something in her life.

She saw the little grandchildren as her own nieces and nephews. The elders became like parents to her. They welcomed her presence, and she felt like she belonged.

One day, the family was in turmoil.

One of the sons had borrowed a large sum from illegal sources. His business losses were mounting and he was unable to recoup them. The debt collectors were relentless. The family was frightened.

In desperation, he reached out to each sibling for help. And to Ammera.

Ammera hesitated. This was a significant amount of money.

The patriarch of the family noticed her hesitation. He approached her privately.

"You're financially comfortable," he said gently. "A successful professional with no familial responsibilities. We've been like a family to you, haven't we? And family should help one another."

The words landed heavily. They had been like family to her. Could she really say no?

Ammera handed over a significant sum from her savings.

After some time passed, Ammera began to ask about repayment. She needed to rebuild her savings.

The borrower would always say the same thing: "I don't have any money to spare right now."

Weeks became months. Ammera brought the matter to the patriarch of the family, hoping he could help establish a repayment schedule.

He shrugged. "There's nothing I can do about it. You'll have to speak with him directly."

Then he added, almost casually, "You loaned the money willingly, after all."

Ammera felt something shift inside her. When they needed her, she was "family." Now that she wanted repayment, she was just someone who made a voluntary loan.

She realised she had never truly been family.

It’s hard not to lend when a friend pleads. - Zachary

Henry was the live wire of the party. He organised gatherings to keep people connected. He was generous and fun to be around.

He would go out of his way to help people. Like driving across the city and spending time with distressed friends in the wee hours of the morning when they called. People felt cared for around Henry.

Henry was also generous when dating. He bought the latest gadgets and luxury products for the women he courted. He paid for exotic trips. He wanted to impress, to show he cared through lavish gestures.

But Henry's expenses exceeded his pay. Significantly.

He began to use his credit cards. The balances grew. Soon, he had accumulated debt about three times his annual salary.

Desperate, he began to borrow from his family and friends. "Just until I sort things out," he would say.

Friends who declined to lend him money were called names. "I thought you were my friend!" he said. "You're selfish. I've always been there for you!"

The scolding was harsh. Public, sometimes. People began to avoid his calls.

Zachary, his secondary school friend, felt conflicted when Henry reached out. He knew Henry was in trouble. And Henry had been there for him during difficult times.

Zachary loaned him $2,000. All he had in his savings.

A few days later, Zachary saw Henry's social media posts. A new gadget unboxed. Photos from a fancy restaurant with another girl, wine glasses raised, laughter.

The $2,000 was gone. Not on rent. Not on debt repayment. On more luxury spending.

Zachary felt sick. That was his entire savings.

When he confronted Henry, Henry became defensive. "I need this relationship to work out."

It took years of repeated begging before Henry finally returned the money. By then, the friendship had long since faded.

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.

Isn't this my duty as the eldest son? - Daniel

Daniel was a good-looking man in his twenties and the heir of his family business. He was dating a woman seriously and looking to settle down with her. Life felt full of promise.

Then disruptive technologies hit the industry. The Huang family business, built over many years, lost its competitive advantage. Orders slowed. Profits dwindled. The future looked uncertain.

Around this time, a lady from another family business took an intense liking to Daniel. She made her interest clear to him, to her family, to his family.

Her father spoke to the elder Huang. He made an offer: If Daniel were to marry his daughter, he would give considerable sums that could keep the Huang business afloat. Perhaps even help it modernise and compete again.

Daniel's parents sat him down. They explained the business situation in detail: The debts, the declining revenue, the employees who depended on them. Then they presented the offer.

"You're the eldest son," his father said. "The family heir. This is your duty."

His mother added gently, "This marriage could save everything we've built."

Daniel thought about his girlfriend. The life they had planned together. The future he wanted.

But he also thought about his family's legacy. The employees who would lose their jobs. His parents' life work crumbling.

Although Daniel did not have affections for the lady, he felt obligated to save his family business.

Daniel broke off with his girlfriend and married the lady.

Years later, the business stabilised. His wife seemed content. His parents were relieved.

But Daniel would sometimes wonder: Whose life was he living?

Haven't I repaid enough? - Han

Han's father secretly remortgaged the matrimonial home to pay his gambling debts.

When the truth came out, Han's mother was distraught. She was fearful that she would lose the roof over her head. She sought out her only son for help.

Han began making two mortgage payments. His own flat and his parents' home. The financial strain was enormous, but what choice did he have? His mother had nowhere else to go.

Then Han was retrenched. The double mortgage payments became impossible.

His best mate from army, Jae, stepped in. "I'll give you an interest-free loan to cover the payments until you find another position."

Han was overwhelmed with gratitude. Jae was saving him and his mother from disaster.

Han found a new job within months and began repaying the loan steadily.

But then Jae began to ask for favours.

Could Han help source specific items? Han had connections in retail. Could Han accompany Jae's elderly parents to the grocers when Jae was out of town? Han had flexible hours now.

At first, Han was happy to help. Jae had been there when he needed him most.

But the requests kept coming. More frequently. More time-consuming.

When Han attempted to decline a request, Jae would grow unhappy.

"I made sacrifices to extend that loan to you, you know," Jae would say, "I could have invested that money. I put my own plans on hold."

Han felt guilt wash over him. Jae was right, wasn't he? He did owe Jae.

Han did his best to fulfil Jae's requests, even when it meant cancelling his own plans or stretching himself thin.

But this debt never seemed to decrease. No matter how many favours Han did, it was never quite enough.

Am I being ungrateful? - Fay

Fay was looking to purchase a car due to her job's travel requirements. As a rookie in a sales position, her income was volatile and she had little savings. A car loan from a bank seemed risky.

Her sister offered a solution. "I can lend you the full sum without interest."

Fay was relieved and grateful. No interest meant she could manage the repayments even when sales were slow.

After purchasing the car, her sister informed Fay of an additional arrangement.

"I'll be using the car on weekends," her sister said. "Consider it a token of appreciation for the loan. You'll remain fully responsible for the upkeep of the vehicle, of course."

Fay felt something tighten in her chest. "Wait, that wasn't part of our agreement. I need the car for work trips that sometimes fall on weekends. And if you're using it, shouldn't you contribute to petrol and maintenance?"

Her sister's face hardened. "I'm doing you a favour by lending you money interest-free. This is the least you can do."

Fay tried to discuss it with their father, hoping he would see the unfairness.

Instead, her father sided with her sister. "You should be thankful to have a car given your current financial position. Your sister is being generous. Don't be ungrateful."

Fay realised she was trapped. The "interest-free loan" came with a price after all. Just one that wasn't disclosed upfront.

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?

How much should our history count? - Jess

Elsa and Jess were childhood best friends. They grew up together, weathered school dramas together, and remained close into adulthood.

In her adult years, Elsa begins to feel stressed and overwhelmed juggling work and motherhood. She starts to share her troubles with Jess regularly. Jess listens. She comforts. She offers support.

When Jess begins to have conflict with her husband, she reaches out to Elsa to share her marital troubles.

But Elsa typically ends the conversation quickly. "Sorry, the children need me." Or "My husband is calling, I have to go."

Jess notices the pattern but says nothing. She continues to be there when Elsa calls.

One day, when Elsa calls her to share her troubles again, Jess keeps silence throughout the conversation. She listens, but offers no comfort. No responses. Just quiet.

Elsa, noticing the unusual silence, asks, "Jess, are you okay?"

Jess's voice was flat. "I have to go." She ends the conversation.

After that, their connection becomes estranged. Calls go unanswered. Messages remain brief.

Elsa was hurt and confused. She reaches out one more time, her frustration spilling over. "You don't understand the intensity of my chores and duties. I expected more from a best friend of decades."

She reminds Jess of the times she stood up for her during bullying in school. The interest-free loans she extended to Jess during hard times.

"After everything I've done for you, this is how you treat me?"

Jess reads the message. She thinks about all the times she listened to Elsa's struggles. All the times Elsa cut her off when she tried to share her own.

She doesn't reply.

Isn't this what a good wife does? - Mei

Mei shares day-to-day happenings with her fitness trainer, Don. Her thoughts. Her feelings. He was affectionate, comforting, and encouraging.

Gradually, Don begins to ask for material and financial help. He talks about difficulties with his stagnant client pool. Money was tight.

When Mei hesitates, Don shifts the conversation. "I want you to be my wife," he says, his voice earnest. "I'm serious about you."

Mei feels her heart flutter. She begins to buy him what he asks for. She transfers money for his businesses. "We can build a future together," he tells her.

They marry.

Over the next ten years, Don continues to pursue multiple business ideas that never quite work out. He spends long hours at his offices, chasing the next opportunity.

Mei works as an accountant in a reputable firm. But she lives from hand to mouth. Every spare dollar goes to Don's ventures. She was unable to pursue her own interests or personal development. No courses. No hobbies. No savings of her own.

Though she was unhappy about this, she reasons with herself. Don's career was very important to him. She should support him as his wife. That was what good wives do.

Don often tells people how lucky he is. "I have such a loving wife who willingly supports me in my business. When I make it big, I'll give her a comfortable life to make up for all her sacrifices."

The comfortable life never comes. The business success remains just around the corner. Always almost there. Never quite arriving.

Mei looks at her reflection one morning and barely recognises herself. Where has she gone?

Am I supposed to be grateful? - Jimmy

Jimmy was a financial advisor who sells insurance products to individual clients.

A retiree, Madam Lim, saw his mailer and got in touch. They spent several afternoons together, meeting at cafes while Jimmy went through various insurance packages.

After these coffee meetings, Madam Lim often asks Jimmy out for dinner. Jimmy always says no, keeping things professional.

Over time, Jimmy notices something. Madam Lim asks many questions but never seems close to making a purchase. She hesitates at every proposal. She asks him to come back with more options.

Eventually, Jimmy learns the truth:
Madam Lim was not actually thinking about any of the insurance packages.

She simply enjoys the energy that salespeople typically have. The attention they shower on her. The free drinks that often come with these meetings. The company.

Jimmy feels a wave of frustration. He has spent his time and money for nothing. All those afternoons, all those presentations. Wasted.

When Jimmy stops replying to Madam Lim's messages, she calls him.

"You're so unprofessional!" she says, her voice sharp with indignation.

Jimmy tries to explain that he needs to focus on other clients who are making purchases.

Madam Lim was quick with her justification. "I was simply responding to your mailer's invitation for more information. I'm not obligated to share upfront that I have little intention to purchase more insurance."

She continues, her tone becoming patronising. "After all, there was a possibility, no matter how slim, that I might change my mind. In fact, I was giving you free training opportunities and keeping you company. Poor boy, you don’t have much sales anyway!"

Jimmy ends the call, stunned by her reasoning. Was he really supposed to be grateful?

Should I have seen this coming? - Agnes

Agnes had friendly relations with her long-time neighbours, a husband and wife couple. Mr and Mrs Li were an elderly couple with low household income. They had befrienders and volunteers from non-profit organisations visiting them regularly.

Agnes became an informal extension of this helping network. She would help Mr and Mrs Li read their mail. They struggled with the language used in official documents and weren't confident completing related tasks.

In return, Mrs Li would water Agnes's plants when she travelled. Mr Li, a handyman, mended her bicycle when it broke down.

When Mr Li's knees became weak and he became prone to falling, Agnes offered to check in on him when Mrs Li was away. It felt like the neighbourly thing to do.

One day, Mr Li called Agnes. There was urgency in his voice. "Can you come quickly? The window ledge is faulty and I'm worried it might fall."

Agnes hurried over.

When she arrived, Mr Li told her that Mrs Li was away. Then he asked her to have sex with him.

Agnes felt her blood run cold. Shock. Disgust. Anger. She scolded him sharply and left immediately.

Back in her own flat, her mind raced. Should she tell Mrs Li? Report him? Confront him again?

But Mrs Li was frail, elderly, dependent on him. The truth would devastate her. And what would happen to their living situation? Their support network?

Agnes decided she wouldn't reveal or pursue the incident. But she would take precautions for her own safety. No more going over when Mrs Li wasn't home. No more one-on-one interactions with Mr Li.

The friendly neighbour relationship had shattered. But outwardly, things looked the same.

I am doing all I can to help. - Kevin

Kevin was a respectable man. He was known to be fearless and would stand up for injustices he saw on the streets and at work.

With his colleagues, he was generous with his time, words, and help. With his relatives and family, he went out of his way to be present. Sometimes he would travel over an hour at the drop of a phone call to tend to their needs.

With his muscular appearance and his unapologetic speaking style, he appeared strong and invincible.

What was not obvious to the untrained eye was that Kevin was sensitive to perceived accusations that he was not enough. That he wasn't doing enough. That he wasn't good enough.

His closest ones learned, consciously and unconsciously, to move him to act through expressing distress and helplessness. Disappointment. Veiled criticisms. "I thought you would be here for me." "I guess I was wrong about you."

They lavished him with praise and love when he availed his time, energy, and resources. "You're amazing, Kevin. What would we do without you?"

Although he was exhausted, he did his best to fulfil everyone's expectations. He pushed himself harder. Slept less. Gave more.

But no matter how hard he tried, his efforts were never enough to meet the unending needs. There was always another crisis. Another call. Another person who needed him.

In his frustrations, he would sometimes erupt in intense anger. Vulgarities would fly. His voice would boom, filling the room with a rage that scared those around him into silence.

Afterwards, the guilt would settle in. He would apologise. Promise to do better. And the cycle would begin again.

Kevin, the strong one. Kevin, the helper.

Kevin, who was slowly burning out from the inside.

Why can’t I share good things with you? - Thomas

Thomas and Lee were rock climbing buddies. They met regularly at the climbing gym, spotting each other on difficult routes, and grabbing meals afterwards.

When Thomas shared about his job promotion, Lee grinned and said, "This promotion is long due. What took you so long?" He laughed. "Congratulations on your promotion anyway!"

Thomas laughed along, but something felt off. The joke had a edge to it.

When Thomas shared about his new home purchase in a prime district, Lee's eyebrows shot up. "Wah, you're rich! You can give me some money lah." He nudged Thomas playfully. "Oh, can I stay with you some time?"

Thomas smiled, unsure how to respond. Was Lee joking? Half-joking?

But when Thomas shared that he was having difficulties getting along with his supervisor, Lee's demeanour shifted completely. His face softened with sympathy. "That sounds really tough, man. Let me buy you a meal. You need to talk it out."

Over that meal, Lee listened attentively. He offered support. He was the friend Thomas needed in that moment.

Over time, Thomas noticed a pattern emerging in his own behaviour. He was no longer sharing positive news with Lee. When good things happened… a bonus, a holiday trip, a work achievement… he would think about mentioning it to Lee, then decide against it.

Instead, he only shared personal struggles and mishaps. Work stress. Family tensions. Small frustrations.

Upon reflection, Thomas realised why:
Doing so kept their interactions free of jealousy whilst retaining the benefit of companionship in their common activities.

But something nagged at him.

If he couldn't celebrate with Lee, were they really friends?

He sabotaged my chances with a girl. - Vikram

Vikram and Issac were part of a university's bowling team. They both helped Ella, their teammate, when she was going through difficult times.

Vikram had quiet affections for Ella. He hoped that over time, as they spent more time together, she might develop romantic feelings for him too.

One day, he learned that Issac was romantically interested in Ella as well.

During one of their conversations, Vikram found an opportune moment. "You know, Ella gave me this jigsaw puzzle she put together personally," he said, his voice warm with appreciation. "And this plush toy too. I'm really touched by her thoughtfulness and generosity."

Issac felt something sink inside him. A personalised jigsaw puzzle? That seemed significant. Meaningful.

What Vikram didn't mention was that the jigsaw puzzle came from Ella's house-moving garage sale. Buyers could donate whatever they wished, with proceeds going to charity. Ella hadn't assembled it specially for him. She had been clearing out her belongings.

He also didn't mention that many people received the same plush toy. Ella had purchased that design in bulk as part of a thanksgiving activity for everyone who had supported the team.

But Issac didn't know any of this. With the incomplete framing of what had transpired, he drew his own conclusion: Ella and Vikram clearly had mutual feelings.

Issac stopped his pursuit of Ella. Why compete when she had already made her choice?

Months later, when the truth came out in casual conversation, Issac realised what had happened. By then, Ella had started seeing someone else entirely.

Was I set up to disappoint? - Sony

Sony and Junior were same-age cousins who had been competing over their performance in school and sports in subtle ways. Neither spoke about it openly, but both felt quietly happy whenever they did better than the other.

Over a family dinner, Junior shared exciting news. He was completing a major in computer science and planning to enter a hackathon with some friends. His eyes lit up as he talked about the project.

Sony, who was a beginner to the world of artificial intelligence, felt a spark of curiosity. "That sounds interesting! Would it be okay if I connected with your friends casually? I would love to learn more about what you're working on."

Junior hesitated for just a moment, then smiled. "Sure, I can set something up."

He didn't want to appear unhelpful, especially in front of the family. But privately, Junior didn't want Sony in this social circle. This was his space, his expertise, his friends.

When Junior contacted his friends, he framed the introduction differently. "My cousin Sony is quite knowledgeable in AI. He's interested in exploring being part of the team."

The meeting was arranged.

Sony walked in expecting a casual chat, a chance to learn from people who knew more than he did. Instead, Junior's friends launched into technical questions, expecting expertise.

"What's your experience with neural networks?"

"How would you approach this algorithm challenge?"

Sony stumbled. He tried to explain that he was just starting out, that he had hoped to learn from them. But the damage was done. The disappointment on their faces was clear.

Junior's friends walked away thinking Sony had overstated his abilities. Sony walked away humiliated, unsure what had just happened.

Later, when Sony asked Junior what went wrong, Junior shrugged. "I just told them you were interested. Maybe they misunderstood."

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?

Can I trust her? - Li Li

Li Li and Mei Na were same-age neighbours whose mothers were homemakers. The two mothers would socialise together frequently, bringing their children along.

But beneath the friendly chats, there was an undercurrent. Their mothers seemed to be competing over their daughters' school grades. Every conversation eventually turned to academics.

When Mei Na's mother learned that Li Li had scored better than Mei Na, she would put Mei Na down publicly. "Why are you so stupid?" she would ask, her voice sharp with disappointment. "Look at Li Li. Why can't you be more like her?"

Li Li would look away, uncomfortable. Mei Na's face would flush with shame.

One day, Mei Na approached Li Li with a challenging maths problem. "Can you help me with this? I've been stuck for ages."

Li Li nodded and spent a few hours working through the problem, determined to figure it out. When she finally solved it, she felt a quiet sense of accomplishment.

Mei Na looked at the solution and smiled brightly. "Oh, thanks! Actually, another friend already solved this for me in only ten minutes."

Li Li felt something deflate inside her.

On another occasion, Li Li confided in Mei Na during a quiet moment. "I haven't told my mum about this issue because I don't want to get into trouble."

Mei Na nodded sympathetically.

The next day, Li Li's mother confronted her. Mei Na had gone straight to Li Li's mother, expressing "concerns" about what Li Li had shared.

Li Li felt the sting of betrayal. She thought they were friends. But was Mei Na actually competing with her all along?