I knew the day would be rough so I enjoyed my morning ritual. Brewing with my french press takes me exactly 20 minutes every morning and I enjoy the coffee fumes while I review tasks for the day. Today, there was only one: bring our visions for the future to a world hungry for change. Toward that end, we were going to livestream the reveal across various platforms including our own website. Anyone could log-on to our site to access the live stream and we had been quietly promoting it for months in various media spheres. The intrigue had built exactly as planned and our analytics suggested a potential 2.1 million viewers from 32 countries around the world. 

Gus and Blueberry brush up against my leg as I wait for my coffee, they’re most affectionate in the morning and late, late at night. I texted Aashvi hoping she had remembered to hydrate, eat, and take an aspirin before falling asleep. She figured out a hangover cure pretty early in college to increase the days she’d be able to effectively work. She replied that she felt fine and was heading to the venue.

 I hurried my morning routine and drove to the venue. We booked an event space and had a few luminaries from the industry in attendance to watch the event live. Once I entered, it became apparent that the event space crew were in a frenzy. They flitted in and out of the room in yellow shirts directing foot traffic and speaking into their earpieces. Jamie, the event coordinator, waved at me from across the room and approached me with the question, “Have you seen Aashvi? We’re supposed to start in 15.” My stomach dropped.

“No, no. She left before I did and should be here already.” I scanned the room hoping to see her lurking in the back or talking with one of the attendees but I couldn’t spot her small frame anywhere. I felt the early signs of a panic attack and tried to slow my breathing and whipped out my phone to text her and as I did it vibrated in my hands with a text from Aashvi. 

Come to the bathroom

With some relief, I told Jamie that she was probably having digestive issues and that I would go get her. I walked back into the entryway where the event staff was greeting newcomers and waved to a man I didn’t recognize as I made my way toward the bathroom in the side entrance. Once inside, I heard the quiet sound of Aashvi dry-heaving through a stall. I knocked twice and asked, “Aashvi, I thought you said you weren’t hungover. Why are you heaving?” 

She opened the stall-door and sized me up. “I’m not hungover, I’m having an anxiety attack. Whenever I get stressed my accent comes on heavier. What if they can’t understand me? What if I don’t reach anybody?” She became visibly more upset as she talked. She was a mess and had only 10 minutes to stand behind the podium and give her speech. 

“Aashvi, you haven’t had a noticeable accent since our Junior year. Yeah, it’s there still, always, just like mine. But, nobody that is listening will care or probably even notice. They’re gonna be too busy listening to that speech I wrote!” And then she giggled. Her shoulders sagged a bit and she exhaled slowly. 

I continued, “You are obsessed with hypotheticals that have not happened. You gotta get out of your head-- just one more time to complete what we started.” Aashvi smiled at me and squared her shoulders. She walked out of the stall and to the row of sinks behind me where she turned on the faucet and splashed water onto the back of her neck. I handed her a towel and gestured at the door-- time was running out. 

We walked toward the main room, together, and smiled at the people who greeted us as we walked to the front of the stage. Jamie’s eyebrows shot up when he saw Aashvi and he grinned before asking, “Well, where have you been? I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. I'm glad you’re here. You’re going to want to talk into the main camera and Rachel will fit you with your mic and…” I didn’t hear the rest of what he had to say as he led her backstage.

 I took a seat near the middle of the room to crowd watch and to keep attention away from me. I was beginning to feel nervous on behalf of Aasvhi-- as if she needed my nerves right now. The lights dimmed three minutes before the beginning and every standing attendee shuffled into a seat. Those sitting near the front were fanned out in an umbrella behind the camera so as not to be shown. 

The doors closed with one minute before the start and a hush fell over the room. At some signal I didn’t see, light flooded the stage, the camera turned on, and Aashvi took her place behind the podium. Applause momentarily filled the room and Aashvi smiled into the camera. I pulled out my phone to check the feed on our website and everything looked perfect. Metrics registered 1.6 million viewers on just the site alone, and, in this moment, millions across the world turned to Aashvi. 

“Hello, Everyone. I am Aashvi Li and I am the acting CEO of the Rawl's Project. My mission began years ago when I realized that our data is bought and sold to advertise, spy on us, and betray us to global intelligence communities instead of healing the world and building toward a more equitable society. To do exactly that, I need all of your help.” She paused on the podium and made eye contact with me. 

Then, eyes forward, she continued saying, “Today, I am happy to announce the beginning phases of the Rawls Project where anyone can register for an account and provide their responses on how to best redress the wrongs of the world and to guide both global and community leaders in data-driven best practices.”  I shifted in my seat, the agony of hearing my words sounding corny in her speech tore into my heart. Perhaps she wasn’t doing me justice, or I could add this to my list of recent mistakes. 

“Your own thoughtful responses to our survey will form the basis for a data driven approach to solving global inequalities that exacerbate misery. Everyone answers the initial question to form a picture of how the relate to everyone else.” At that moment, Aashvi’s face shrank into a corner of the phone screen and was replaced by text from the opening page of the survey: 

“Love forms bonds stronger than can be divided by hate and it is love that will save us from the bonds we have made for ourselves. But, we can only do that with help from all of you listening. Thank you, all of you, for taking time today to join me in unveiling our project.” Aashvi finished speaking and the room erupted in applause. The livestream on my phone displayed the text and Aashvi’s beaming face in the corner of the screen. When the stream ended, only the text remained. 

---

Miles away, Ronie watched the livestream from their laptop as the git file containing the entirety of The Rawls Project downloaded onto their workstation. Later that night when the download had finished, Ronie broke into a cold sweat when they saw that 760 million lines of  the 900 millions lines of code were unique to the project and hadn’t existed until Aasvhi  breathed life into them over the years.