That day, I was smoking downstairs at the company building.

Next to me stood a girl, in her early twenties, probably an intern.
She was staring at her phone, fingers scrolling quickly, with a smile on her face like she had received good news.
Suddenly, she looked up and asked me: Sis, how many years have you been working?
I said, ten years.
Her eyes lit up briefly: Then you must be very impressive now, director?
I flicked the ash off my cigarette: No, I just got laid off.
Her smile froze. The phone screen darkened. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something comforting, but didn’t speak.
I said, it’s okay. Then she looked down at her phone.
On the screen was a job offer notification. She had just received it today.
She flipped the phone over and placed it on the table, as if afraid I might see.
I said, congratulations.
She said, Sis, I’m sorry.
I asked, Sorry for what?
She said, I don’t know.
She stood up, clutching her phone in her hand.
Took a couple of steps, then turned back.
And said,
“Sis, can I ask you a question?”
“You ask.”
“Ten years from now, will I also be smoking here?”
I looked at her. Didn’t say anything.
She flipped her phone over, the screen still lit.
The salary on the offer, and that smile she just had, were all on it.
I said, hold onto your happiness today. Don’t rush to spend it.
She nodded, then shook her head.
I stubbed out my cigarette and walked into the building.
In the elevator, my phone vibrated.
It was a message from HR: Come to the company tomorrow to sign the resignation compensation agreement.
I replied: Okay.
Then I sent another message: By the way, what’s the name of that new intern downstairs?
HR didn’t reply.
And you, what did you store today?
Will it still be useful ten years from now?