The Punctual Intern

By the end of his second week, Ishaan had become an office legend for an achievement that was not mentioned in his internship agreement. Every morning, at exactly nine, he was already at his desk.

His manager, Preethi, admired this. His teammates admired it with slightly more suspicion. The office stood in Electronic City, and Ishaan lived far enough away that most colleagues expected to hear a daily explanation involving congestion, rain, or a bus that had changed its mind.

Instead, he arrived looking calm. He knew which printer worked. He knew the cafeteria breakfast menu before it was displayed. He once informed the admin team that the plants near reception needed water. These were unusual qualities in someone still learning where the meeting rooms were.

At the Monday stand-up, Preethi praised him. “A good example of taking ownership.”

Ishaan nodded politely and took ownership of a yawn behind his hand.

His teammate Bala decided to investigate. He asked which route Ishaan used. Ishaan named a perfectly ordinary route. Bala asked whether he rode a bike. No. Cab? No. Teleportation? Ishaan smiled without confirming anything.

The mystery grew when a cleaner named Savitha stopped beside his desk and asked whether his mother’s knee was better. Ishaan said yes and asked whether Savitha’s daughter had received her examination timetable. She had. They discussed it for two minutes with the ease of people who had already spent significant time together.

Bala watched from behind a monitor. “You know everyone.”

“Some people,” Ishaan said.

On Thursday, Preethi arrived early for an overseas call. At seven fifteen, she walked into the cafeteria and found Ishaan eating idlis beside the facilities team. A security supervisor was telling a story about a malfunctioning gate. Ishaan was laughing so hard he had put down his spoon.

Preethi stopped. “Ishaan? What time did you come?”

“Six.”

“Today?”

“Usually.”

The mystery did not collapse all at once. It unfolded carefully, accompanied by coconut chutney. Ishaan’s neighbourhood had a shared early vehicle used by several people working around the campus. It was reliable, affordable, and suited the facilities team’s schedule. He had arranged a seat. He reached before the office rush, ate breakfast, studied, and waited for his official day to begin.

“What time do you wake up?” Preethi asked.

Ishaan answered. Preethi looked at her own untouched coffee as if it had failed to provide enough support for the conversation.

He explained that he wanted to do well. He did not want his first internship remembered for lateness. Arriving absurdly early had seemed easier than arriving anxious. The others had made him welcome, and Savitha brought an extra banana whenever he looked tired.

Preethi listened. Then she stopped calling his punctuality a model everyone should copy. She discussed a more workable schedule with him and arranged the necessary approval. On days he needed the early ride, there would be an appropriate place to rest before work. On other days, his arrival could be coordinated with actual responsibilities.

For the first time, Ishaan stopped calculating his morning in units of lost sleep.

At the next stand-up, she praised the work he had completed rather than the hour he had appeared. Ishaan looked visibly relieved. Bala, finally understanding the secret, offered to include him in a carpool twice a week.

The following Tuesday, Ishaan reached at nine twenty under his agreed schedule. He looked rested. His presentation was good. Nobody asked him to justify the extra twenty minutes.

At lunch, Savitha passed him a banana and asked how the new arrangement was going.

“Very well,” he said.

She nodded. “Good. You were laughing at the gate story before the funny part.”

Read when you’re a passenger or safely off the road. Never while driving.