In the Game of Love

Chapter 1

Mondays are the absolute worst. Waking up filled with dread about going back to another week of the grind. Having the same 'Hey, how was the weekend?' and 'Good, good, how about you?' conversation over and over again till the word weekend stops making sense. Remembering the long list of emails you were too lazy to answer on Friday. It's just all so awful.

It's doubly awful when, on top of that, you are also very sleep deprived because you were busy looking at twitter till late night, browsing football news and defending Tottenham's abysmal results on the comments section. Well, that's what you do when you are a football fan and you love Tottenham Hotspur Football Club, or the Spurs as we call it for short.

The office is thrumming with a vibrant energy, a symphony of fingers drumming keyboard keys and conversations buzzing all around me, with the ever-present aroma of freshly brewed espresso. Imagining that I'm finally done with my share of morning chit chat, I crack my knuckles and open my MacBook.

'Hey, Bella. Do anything fun this weekend?' our intern pipes up, noisily swirling his iced coffee, and interrupting me before I can even enter my password.

Does watching the Spurs match and fuming about the results count? Probably not.

'Not much,' I say lamely.

Unfazed by my tepid response, he immediately dives into a long and convoluted saga of his exploits in the London club scene. It's not my cup of tea, but I manage to nod and 'ooh' and 'ahh' at all the right places, till his story ends with big laughs from all the desks around me.

Being so laser-focused on climbing the corporate ladder through my twenties has probably left me permanently out of the loop. Good thing, London has a little something for everyone. To me the perfect day, when not obsessing over football, would probably be aimlessly wondering through the bookshelves at Daunt, or maybe a late brunch with Steph.

But hey, to each their own, I purse my lips.

Finally left to my own devices, the world narrows to the glow of my screen, and I enter my work mode. When I'm in the zone like this, I can hardly notice time passing by. Going through the latest designs for our new feature, comments on the tech spec doc, slides for the weekly progress review – done, done and done.

Not bad progress. But by noon, my stomach is growling in protest.

The food options at our swanky tech HQ are pretty good. There are four different cafeterias, each catering to a different palate. While they are no Michelin star restaurants, they are free and nutritious, so most people opt to eat there. Maybe it's a corporate ploy to keep us chained to our jobs, but I'm not complaining.

As I click through the menu screen, my chat window pings with a new message.

'Lunch?'

Matt, my work bestie.

'Sure,' I type back with a smile on my face, and do a big stretch with my arms, getting up from my desk.

While walking towards the cafeteria, I can't resist a quick scroll through my Twitter timeline. Hmm, another big account blasting Sonny aka Son Heung Min for the loss against Wolverhampton Wanderers in the weekend. It's not like he's the only attacking player on the field, why do people always come after him? The club talisman Harry Kane had a pretty poor performance, and midfield was non-existent ever since Bentancur was sidelined after his ACL injury. Somehow, as popular Sonny is, a vocal minority will always find a way to blame everything on our brilliant winger. I don't know how they can hate such a talented footballer who always plays with a smile on his face. He's known to be always happy and fiercely loyal to the team, but for these people he can never do enough...