The house that Chad built

 Chad was a young man who lived his life in a blur of flashing stock charts and market alerts. As a freelance stock trader, he had laptops in every room of his sleek, minimalist apartment. The glow of screens illuminated his face from morning till midnight, tracking global markets, executing trades, and chasing the next big win. His mantra was simple: time is money, and slowing down was a luxury he couldn’t afford.


He barely left his apartment, surviving on takeout, snacks and energy drinks. His conversations were brief, limited to quick calls with brokers or terse emails to clients. Friends stopped inviting him out, and his family had long given up on trying to get him to visit. He didn’t mind. Lost in his world every second spent away from the market was a second of potential lost profit.


Then, one morning, his body decided it had had enough. A sharp pain shot through his chest, forcing him to gasp for air. Panic surged through him. He clutched his phone, but for the first time, checking the market wasn’t his priority. He dialed 999.


At the hospital, the doctor’s words cut deeper than any market crash. "You’re running yourself into the ground. You’re pre-diabetic and your blood pressure is so high its ruining you. Stress like this isn’t sustainable. If you don’t slow down, the market won’t be the only thing that crashes."


For the first time in years, Chad had no laptop, no screens, nothing to track. Just a quiet room, a heart monitor beeping steadily, and his own thoughts. It was an unfamiliar silence, but not an unwelcome one.


Discharged with orders to rest, he found himself staring out of his apartment window at the city below. He walked out into his backyard which he hadn’t visited in months, but for the instructions he gave to the landscapers. As he lay in his hammock, he realized that he hadn’t noticed before how the sunset bathed the skyline in gold, or how the hum of life continued regardless of whether he placed a trade or not. 


He hesitated for his circumstances, then picked up his phone, not to check the market, but to call his mother. Maybe, he thought, slowing down wasn’t the same as losing. Maybe, for the first time in a long time, he had something worth gaining.


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