The snail sat hunched over his laptop, his eyes darting between the screen and the clock. The hands seemed to accelerate with every glance. "Has an hour already gone by?" he muttered, feeling the weight of the deadline pressing on his shoulders. The laptop's battery warning blinked menacingly at him, and he hastily plugged it into the charger. Time seemed to slip through his fingers like sand.
Despite his thirst, the snail resisted the urge to pause, typing furiously. When he finally relented, he noticed the time: 12:45. "Time flies," he whispered, reaching for a glass of water. The doorbell rang, pulling him from his trance. The delivery person stood there, a reminder of the time he hadn't spared for himself. He grabbed a salad from the fridge, eating quickly, his mind still tethered to his work.
The hours melted away as the snail remained glued to his desk. Evening descended, unnoticed until Lila called from the kitchen. His wife, her voice gentle yet firm, asked, "Sweetheart, aren’t you coming to dinner?" He blinked, disoriented. "What time is it?" "It’s ten o’clock. It’s late," she replied. Frustration knotted his brow as he closed the laptop. "How’s the project going, honey?" she inquired. "Bad. I have to submit the project by November 30th," he confessed, feeling the chasm between his ambitions and reality widening.
June turned to November, the months a blur of relentless work. The snail grew more isolated, his world shrinking to the confines of his desk. Lila, weary of being a bystander, made a painful decision. "You’re never here for me," she said softly, before leaving. Her absence echoed through the silent house, a stark reminder of what he had lost in his pursuit of the impossible.
November 30th arrived, a day that should have marked triumph but instead brought defeat. The snail sat in his office, his spirit crushed under the weight of unmet expectations. Tears blurred his vision as he finally acknowledged the truth: "The problem was never a lack of time, but my unrealistic planning," he admitted to himself, the realization cutting deep. He had sacrificed everything for a deadline he could never meet, losing sight of what truly mattered.
An hour passed in quiet reflection when a knock at the door pulled the snail from his thoughts. Opening it, he found Lila standing there, her presence a balm to his aching soul. "I’m so sorry," he choked out, tears spilling over. They embraced, a silent promise to rebuild what had been broken. From that day forward, the snail vowed to cherish the moments that truly mattered, balancing the demands of work with the love and well-being that gave his life meaning.
