Infinite Cashback: My Wealth Rebate System

Jason pushed open the door to his apartment, and darkness immediately welcomed him.

For a while, he simply stood at the entrance, one hand still wrapped around the doorknob, as if he hadn’t fully decided whether he should enter or leave.

His suit, the one he’d carefully pressed that morning, iron cord used the exact way his mother had taught him, twice, because he hadn’t trusted himself to get it right the first time had long since lost its dignity.

His white dress shirt was untucked, wrinkled like he’d spent the day fighting invisible battles, sleeves rolled unevenly to his forearms.

He looked nothing like the man who’d left this apartment that morning. He looked defeated.

After several silent seconds, he stepped inside, not bothering to close the door behind him. The apartment’s automatic closer did the job for him, a slow mechanical click, sealing him in.

His hand found the light switches without needing to look, the room’s layout etched into his body by years of habit.

Three clicks, and the apartment revealed itself. A small, tidy, enough apartment for one person. A neatly made bed against the wall. A modest wooden table with a single chair tucked underneath, like it was still waiting for someone who never came.

Only one thing looked out of place tonight, several shirts and pairs of trousers scattered across the bed. Not mess but indecision.

He’d stood right there that morning, trying on outfit after outfit, narrating his own reflection out loud like it was a decision that deserved commentary.

Too plain. Too formal. This one makes you look like you’re selling insurance

Blue tie, then black, neither of them right, because today wasn’t supposed to be an ordinary date. Today was supposed to be the day he told Amanda how he felt, after years of almost saying it, rehearsed so many times in his head that he’d half-expected his mouth to just handle it on its own when the moment came.

It had been a day. Just not that one.

Jason crossed to the bed, each step heavier than the last, and stopped in front of the mirror. His reflection was already waiting, unbothered, the way it always was.

A crooked smile crept onto his lips. It was not amusement nor happiness. The kind of smile that showed up when a person had finally run out of excuses.

"Heh." He shook his head. "What a pathetic sight."

The words came out soft. Almost gentle. And somehow that made them cut deeper than any insult someone else could have thrown at him, mostly because he’d have argued with anyone else’s version of the insult, found the flaw in their reasoning and made a joke to deflect it.

There wasn’t anything remarkable about the man staring back. Not muscular, not skinny.

Ordinary build, the kind of person you’d pass on the street and forget within a minute.

Average, in every direction he checked, and he checked all of them, methodically, like he was running inventory on a store that had already closed.

The corners of his mouth twitched, then gave out entirely, and before he could stop it his eyes had gone wet.

"Aaaahhh!"

The shout tore out of him without warning, filling the apartment with months of frustration he hadn’t known he was still carrying. His fists clenched, arms thrown outward, like he could physically rip the feeling out of his chest.

Then silence again.

He took a breath.

"It’s fine." His voice came out hoarse. "One rejection. That’s all this is." He nodded to himself, steadying his breathing

"Maybe she never saw me that way. Maybe there’s already someone else. Someone taller, stronger, more sure of himself. Someone who isn’t just... average."

A bitter smile. "And honestly? I get it. Life moves on." He clapped his hands together once, like he was closing a file. "Brush my teeth. Shower. Sleep and then tomorrow, I start over."

He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the pile of shirts already on the bed, gaze lingering there for a second before he turned away. Crossing toward the sink, he stopped short.

"Huh." He looked down. Shoes still on. A dry laugh escaped him.

"I’ve never walked in here with my shoes on before. Almost two years in this apartment. Not once." He bent down, untied the laces, and set them neatly against the wall, socks staying on as he continued to the sink.

His toothbrush sat waiting beside the same red-and-white toothpaste he’d bought every month for years without thinking twice about it. Some things never changed.

He picked up the brush, switched it to his left hand out of habit, squeezed out a line of paste, capped the tube, and set it back exactly where it belonged.

Routine. All of it routine, right up until he lifted the brush toward his mouth and caught his own eyes in the mirror again, and every single thing he’d just spent five minutes suppressing came flooding back at once.

The restaurant. Amanda’s face, awkward, apologetic. The quiet laughter from the table behind them. The feeling of being watched by people who would forget him by morning while he’d remember this for years.

His arm stopped halfway there. A single warm drop rolled down his cheek.

"Huh?" He stared at himself. "Why am I crying?"

He wiped it away with the back of his hand. Another followed. Then another, faster than he could catch them, tracing down to his jaw and dripping into the sink below.

His breathing turned uneven. His grip on the toothbrush tightened until his knuckles went white.

"I did everything." His voice cracked. "I tried. I treated her well. I took her out, I listened whenever she needed to talk, I gave her every hour I had to give."

A bitter laugh shook loose between breaths. "I gave her everything I had left."

His eyes squeezed shut. "So what didn’t I do? What was I missing? What did I lack?" His voice climbed with each question, filling the small bathroom, none of them getting an answer. "Why wasn’t I enough?"

He looked at the man in the mirror one last time. He had red eyes, a trembling mouth, an expression he couldn’t stand to hold onto and lowered the toothbrush into the sink, both hands braced against the porcelain edge, head hanging low.

That was when the dam finally gave out. His shoulders shook, and months of quiet loneliness and disappointment came pouring out all at once, tears soaking into the sink, ragged sobs he no longer had the strength to hold back.

The sound filled the empty apartment. No one was there to hear it. No one to tell him it would be alright.

Just Jason, and his reflection, and the pain he’d spent far too long pretending wasn’t there.

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