Nothing showing yet isn't nothing happening

Month eight. Every morning he opens the same screen, does the same work, finishes all of it. Then he looks up and everything is exactly as it was the day he walked in. Nothing got worse. Nothing changed either.

Whatever lands on his desk, he finishes it, and he finishes it properly. The stack beside him gets thicker every day. It's just that nobody walks past, nobody stops to ask. He doesn't say anything about it. Tomorrow he gets up and goes in and sits down in the same chair.

A month of staying late. Some nights the monitor is the only thing still lit in the room, its blue on his face, the city outside mostly dark. His boss hasn't said anything. The number on the payslip hasn't moved. He closes the laptop, the room goes dark, and tomorrow he does it again.

Two months into the new job. Everyone else finishes in one pass; he's still feeling his way through, still asking about things everyone already knows. At night he opens his notebook and writes down where he got stuck. Not to prove anything to anyone. Just so tomorrow is a little faster than today.

A seed needs time too. Not seeing it doesn't mean it isn't growing.

Everyone sees the plant once it's up. Nobody sees the days the seed spent underground — not even the seed.

So where are you right now?