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Silence. A pause. Then the world’s least convincing “No?” before the thief vanished out of frame.
By the next morning, the forks had returned. Every. Single. One. Clean, shiny, and resting silently in the drawer, as if nothing had ever happened.
No one spoke of it again. But somewhere in that office, the forks remember. -
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"Someone kept stealing our office forks and I accidentally exposed them on a client call"
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Image is representative only and does not depict the actual subjects of the story.
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Now, each time someone grabs a fork, there’s going to be quiet tension in the air—a collective knowing. The drawer may be full again, but trust?
Let’s just say that’s still missing.
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