The next morning

Salma’s bedroom door opened. “You’re up early.”

Maya was on the couch. Blanket over her legs. Laptop balanced on a pillow.

“Never went to sleep.” She stopped typing.

“Work?”

Maya nodded. “Still on call.”

Salma shuffled toward the kitchen. Started the coffee maker. “I’m sorry boo. What happened?”

“You know the authentication service? The one I fixed last month?”

“The one Thomas broke?”

“That’s the one. Someone pushed broken code and went home. Whole thing went down at 3am.”

Salma winced. “Thomas again? Didn’t you switch teams?”

“Different team. Same problem.” Maya rubbed her eyes. “I fixed it in twenty minutes with the AI thought.” She smirked.

“Why you? Can’t someone else do it?”

“Because,” Maya finally looked up. “They keep moving me to new teams to ‘help with transitions.’ You know what that means?”

“Quality Control Inspector!”

“They know I care just enough to fix their shit. Help the junior dev. Offer solutions.”

“Solutions they ignore.”

“Solutions they ignore until it’s too late. I suggested a fix six months ago. They said no. Now I’m up at 3am and there’s six months of code built on top of the broken part. Who knows how long this will take me to fix.”

“And they pay you so much. Why don’t they listen to you.”

“Cause who listens to the factory workers when they have an idea?”

Maya sighed. Then she closed her laptop. Set it on the coffee table.

“I feel pathetic.”

“Maya.” Salma stopped moving. “You’re not pathetic.”

“I’m asking permission to fix problems I already know how to fix. Every day.” Maya pulled the blanket tighter. “It’s a humiliation ritual.”

“I’m a factory worker, Salma. A really well-paid factory worker. Build the widget. Ship the widget. Don’t ask why the widget is broken. Just fix it and move on.”

Maya looked at the whiteboard. Her real work. “I have so much energy, Salma. I want to build. I want to work hard. I just…” She rubbed her eyes. “I want it to matter.”

Salma grabbed her thermos from the dish rack. “Poor baby. Wants to make artisanal code. Not boxed brand.”

Maya pretended to cling to her chest. “I’m an artist and I’m sensitive about my shit.” She gestured at the whiteboard. “And I have a vision.”

“Okay, Erykah.” Salma poured coffee into her thermos. “Are they expecting you to work today?”

“Shit is still broken. Kinda. I have a standup at 9.”

“Are you gonna say something?”

“I’m going to say what I need to say.” Maya smiled, tired. “Then I’m going to sleep until tomorrow.”

Salma sighed. “This is the third time this month.”

“Fourth.”

Salma exhaled. Then: “Is that a burrito?”

“Warmed it up for you.”

“You’re an angel.” Salma grabbed it off the counter.

Maya looked up to smile. “Girl. You look great!”

“You like?” Salma twirled. Her blazer was new.

“I’m so jealous of your coworkers.” Maya stretched. Yawned. “They get dressed up and hang out with you all day.”

Salma took a bite and walked up to the whiteboard. “We would get nothing done if we worked together. And,” she smiled. “I’m two years away from making partner.”

“Or you could come be my co-founder. Every startup needs a lawyer.” Maya made grabby hands at her. “Please, I’m desperate.”

Salma took another bite. She tried to study the whiteboard. “Why does it say NIP everywhere?”

Maya laughed. “Nostr Implementation Possibilities.”

Salma rolled her eyes. “Why does so much of your code stuff have to be sexual?”

“Girl, you always make it sexual.”

“And what does NOSTR stand for?”

“Notes and Other Stuff Transmitted by Relays.”

Salma stopped chewing. “That’s horrible.”

“I know.”

“No, like, that’s aggressively bad. Who named this?”

Maya laughed. “HTTP stands for Hypertext Transfer Protocol. No one cares. Everyone uses it.”

“Fair.” Salma sipped from her thermos. “What’s a relay?”

“A server. Like a computer somewhere holding your stuff. Anyone can run one. Your posts go out to a bunch of them.”

Salma squinted.

“Think of email.”

“Email?”

“Your email address works. People don’t have to have Gmail to send something to a Gmail address. Gmail talks to Outlook talks to Yahoo. No one company controls it. The emails live on servers. If Gmail goes down, your emails still exist. No one company owns email. It’s just a protocol.”

“Okay.” Salma nodded slowly. “Damn, that’s cool.”

Maya sat up straighter. The exhaustion lifted for a second.

“It IS cool. Now imagine that, but for social media.”

“Okay.” Salma kept nodding.

“No company owns or controls your login information. No one can take down anything you post. Because it goes out to more relays than anyone could ever shut down.”

“So that’s the thing. You can’t get banned?” Salma threw her purse over her shoulder.

“There is a lot more to it. Basically, any app that needs user profiles could use Nostr instead of building their own login system.”

“You’re losing me babe.” Salma leaned over to put on her shoes.

“If Corner Cafe wanted to have a website that offered rewards for regular customers, they wouldn’t have to have their own login service. They could just ask for your Nostr profile.”

“Oh like logging in with Gmail on other apps?” Salma was packing her briefcase.

“EXACTLY!” Maya’s hands shot up in the air. “But it gives you, the user, more rights than you had before.”

Salma screwed the lid on her thermos. “So why isn’t everyone using it?”

“Because it’s early. And the name is terrible.”

“Terrible.” Salma laughed. “You need sleep.”

“I need to be in charge. So at least if something is broken, it’s my fault. Not some idiot who is the reason I’m up at 3am. Fixing their mistakes.”

Salma let her finish the thought.

“I’m tired of needing someone else’s permission. As if I’m a child.”

“Permission for what?”

“To be included in decisions. For my expertise to actually hold weight,” Maya explained. “Tech is not a meritocracy. Just because my boss isn’t a boomer doesn’t mean he’s magically a competent middle manager. It’s all still political. Just like your firm.”

“Ah.” Salma paused at the door. “Girl, you know I get it.”

“Am I crazy for wanting some dignity?” Maya shouted at the door.

“You’re not crazy.” Salma shouted back. “But you look insane. Get some sleep.”

The door closed behind her.

Silence.

Maya stared at the door. Then at the whiteboard. Her brain, mapped out. Waiting.

She stood. Stretched. Her back cracked in three places.

She grabbed a glass from the cabinet. Filled it from the pitcher in the fridge. Drank.

Her phone was on the counter. She opened Nostr. Scrolled a popular feed. 24-hour trending.

A note caught her eye. “Why does Nostr keep rebuilding Twitter?”

One comment had traction.

She clicked through.

Zaps. Reposts. Replies agreeing, pushing back, riffing on what that could look like.

It took her down a 48 minute rabbit hole. She returned to the original note.

“Talking about TikTok on Nostr? Someone is brave,” Maya murmured. Laughed, realizing she was talking to herself. She needed to sleep.

She tapped the profile.

Sean.

Her breath caught.

She closed her eyes. Opened them.

His profile photo. The same one from—

Back to the comment. The responses. Criticisms. Praise.

Her eyes drifted to the whiteboard.

Back to her phone.

The alarm reminder for her 9am went off.

She looked at her laptop. Looked back at the phone.

She hit repost.

Threw her phone on the couch.

Went to her laptop. Dialed into the call.

Typed into the chat. “Not feeling great. Need to take the day off. Later team.”

Logged off.

Opened Nostr. Copied Sean’s note’s event ID. Opened the chatbot.

How would tiktok work if its business model was based on the attention marketplace?

She hit paste.

She hit enter.

The next night

Maya needed a break from staring at her whiteboard.

She opened HiveTalk. Video call service. Built on Nostr.

Rafael’s tired face filled the screen. His messy São Paulo kitchen behind him. Tiny dishes piled on a high chair.

“Boa noite.”

“Boa noite. Thanks for doing this.”

“Of course.” He rubbed his eyes. “I read your notes. It should work.”

“Really?”

“Marketplace layer on Nostr and Lightning. It’s solid. The documentation was good. Very long.” He almost smiled. “Build it.”

Maya exhaled. “I had help. The chatbot doesn’t sleep.”

“Yeah?” Rafael leaned in. “Why do you say that?”

“You have to try it.” Maya mirrored his lean. “It feels like leading an army of devs.”

“The code? The code it writes is good?”

“You still need to review. But if you treat it like a senior dev and you’re the CTO…” Maya shared her screen. “Take a look at this diagram it pushed out visualizing it.”

“Wow. Okay. I’ll try it out.” Rafael leaned back into his chair and smirked. “That documentation almost looked VC-funded.”

Maya laughed and unshared her screen. “An AI subscription is the new VC funding.”

“A bold statement.” Rafael grinned.

“I feel like I just secured Series A.” She leaned in. “I want to build for a specific implementation.”

“Yes. Tell me.” Rafael turned away, murmured something to Luísa, then turned back. “I’m listening.”

“A video app.”

“Like what, TikTok on Nostr?” Rafael’s eyebrows went up. “Ambitious.”

“Why? Why hasn’t anyone tried it?” Maya asked.

He raised his hand and pretended to rub two coins between his fingers.

“How expensive?” Maya leaned in.

“Too much. Video’s probably the most expensive thing to host.” Rafael looked away. Something shifted in his face.

Maya waited.

“Most devs can barely afford to run the Twitter clones they’ve made.”

“You okay?”

He laughed. Short. “I’m fine. Just… running out of runway.”

“What?”

“The relay. Fourteen months. Donations maybe cover half.” He wasn’t looking at her. “Value for value. That’s what we all say.” He laughed, hollow.

Maya half-smiled.

“People don’t pay for shit they get for free.” Rafael sipped his tea.

“They taught us it was free.” Maya shook her head.

Rafael raised his eyebrow.

Maya grinned. “We’ve been for sale under the lie of free.”

“That’s right! Okay!” Rafael clapped his hands loudly. Repositioned himself in his chair. “Video.”

“Video,” Maya confirmed.

He leaned back. “Notes, identity, all that—”

“And anything I post, I own.” Maya nodded. “Because it’s tied to my account. Not whichever app I use to post.”

“Right. Always. For text, that’s easy. But video?” Rafael shifted. “You know what happens if TikTok decides to ban you tomorrow?”

“You lose everything.”

“Everything. Content. Followers. Years of work. Gone. Because none of it was yours. You were renting.”

“But on Nostr…” Maya smiled.

“Your followers follow you. Not the app. App dies, you open another one. Same account. Same audience.” He almost smiled. “That’s ownership.”

Maya laughed. “This is honestly a better pitch to regular people than censorship resistance.”

Rafael got quiet. Thinking. Then: “So the protocol brings money in. People get paid to watch promotions. But what about the rest of us? The people running the infrastructure?”

“That’s the whole point.” Maya leaned forward. “The app operator charges a service fee. And they pay for the services they need — relays, hosting, storage. Not donations. Payment.”

He was doing the math. She could see it.

“So if I ran a relay that supported this…”

“A billboard operator could pay you for your services. Not donations. Payment.”

He stared at her. His whole posture changed.

Rafael was quiet for a long moment.

“This could actually work.”

“I know.” Maya was getting ahead of herself. “People pick the services they want. The content they love. The apps that respect them. And everyone gets paid. Real value for value.”

“Everyone gets to live,” Rafael said it quietly.

Maya nodded.

Rafael was quiet. Then: “I wish I had time to help you build this.”

He looked away.

“You have your relay,” she said. Not bitter. Just true.

“I have my relay.” He rubbed his face. “And I’m barely keeping that alive.”

“I know.”

Silence.

“You’re living the dream though. You have freedom. Building what you want.”

Rafael sighed. Deeply. “Freedom.” He turned the word over. “I don’t know anymore.”

“You work for yourself.” Maya looked confused.

“I work for everyone. Every client. Every deadline. Everyone else decides my priorities. And there’s no paycheck if I stop.” He glanced off screen. “Luísa just took the baby to bed. I do calls at night so I can help more during the day.”

“That actually sounds so nice.” Maya meant it.

“Sometimes work falls behind but I want to be with them more. You know?”

“Family should come first.”

He nodded.

“They’re everything. I just need to make it to the next cycle. Then maybe I can breathe.” He rubbed his face. “That’s what I tell myself. Just hold. Build. The sats will be worth more soon.”

“You’re doing it, Rafael. That’s more than most.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “It’s mine.”

“But you don’t HAVE to deal with all that. You’re choosing to support everyone.”

“It is what it is. When you build the infrastructure…it’s for everyone.”

“Right. I’m starting to think I want to build the experience instead. So I get to be the one who decides.”

“Decides what?”

“Everything. The priorities. What to build. Who to build for.”

“That includes all the responsibility too.”

“Right now, everyone making decisions around me, FOR ME, is an idiot. Why can’t I be one of the idiots in charge? Build something I’m actually excited about?”

Rafael laughed. “You can absolutely be one of the idiots.”

“An idiot that’s just trying to get you paid. You’re gonna want me in charge.”

He leaned forward. “Maybe this could help devs like me. Help us all live free.”

“Imagine a world….” She let it hang.

“I can finally imagine it.” He leaned back. “And I want it.”

“You couldn’t before?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “I didn’t fully get it before.”

“Everyone needs an example.”

“Everyone needs an example.” He nodded. “Implementation matters. Build it. It’ll get their attention.”

Maya smiled. That’s exactly what she needed to hear.

Rafael paused. “You sound different tonight. What’s changed?”

“Different how?”

“Like you already know this is going to work. It’s been what, a year? That you’ve had this idea.”

She glanced at her phone. Sean’s note looking back at her.

She turned back to her whiteboard.

“I’m just moving in warp speed with AI these days. I’ve barely slept. But it’s been great.”

“Maya.” He waited until she looked at him. “Don’t burn out before you build it.”

She looked back at the screen.

“Build it then,” Rafael said. Softer now. “And when it works, maybe the rest of us can finally breathe.”

The call ended.

The screen went dark. Just Maya’s face reflected back.

She exhaled. Let her head fall back against the chair.

Still alone.

But not crazy.

One hour later

Sean had his headset on. The TV was casting blue across his dark living room. Controller in hand.

Nima and Ken were already at it.

“I hate this game.” Nima was getting wrecked. “Why do I play this?”

“Because you spent sixty dollars on it.”

“Forty more for a SKIN.”

Ken laughed. “You bought a battle pass.”

“Don’t.”

“For a game you already paid for.”

“I SAID DON’T.”

Sean smiled. Said nothing. Kept winning.

“Shayan.” Nima’s voice crackled through. “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

“Focused,” he said.

“Not thinking about Vegas girl?” Nima poked the bear.

“Thinking about how you’re about to spin out.” Sean deflected.

Ken’s car drifted around a corner. “You know what’s funny?” He asked. “This game costs sixty bucks and still has a battle pass. Mobile games are free and they make more money.”

“How?” Nima asked.

“Ads. Rewarded video. ‘Watch this ad, get fifty coins.’ Kids do it all day,” Ken responded.

“That’s sad.”

“That’s billions of dollars. Opt-in ads. Completed views. Advertisers pay a premium for it.”

Nima spun out. Again. “But the coins are fake.”

“Obviously,” Ken added.

“So they’re watching real ads for fake money.”

“While the advertiser gets exactly what they wanted.” Ken’s car clipped a wall. “Pretty good deal. For one side.”

“That’s fucked.” Nima laughed.

“That’s why mobile games suck. They’re not built to be fun. They’re built to show ads.” Ken sighed. “And THIS game? Sixty bucks wasn’t enough. They needed the battle pass too.”

“So either way we’re getting milked,” Nima said.

Ken clicked his tongue. “Either way the game isn’t the product. You are.”

Silence. Just the game sounds.

Sean crossed the finish line. Victory screen.

“OH COME ON.” Nima was yelling. “HOW.”

Sean leaned back. “I was paying attention.”

“To WHAT?”

Sean didn’t answer.

He pulled off his headset. Set down the controller. The apartment was quiet now. Just the menu music looping.

Still thinking.

Two days later

Sean was still in his sweats. Season 3, Episode 2 of Silicon Valley playing.

He poured a fresh cup of tea into his favorite mug. It felt like a new day.

Richard was explaining his vision. The new internet. Decentralized. Peer-to-peer. No gatekeepers.

Sean paused it. Rewound. Watched again.

He grabbed his phone.

Checked Nostr. Her profile.

His eyes popped.

New post.

“gm to all who celebrate ☕” with a photo of her drink at a coffee shop. Posted 3 minutes ago.

He looked at his mug. The ‘The Conrer Cafe’ typo.

He looked at Maya’s mug in the photo. The ‘The Conrer Cafe’ typo.

He went back and forth three more times.

Posted 3 minutes ago.

She was there. Right now.

Only six blocks away.

He grabbed his hoodie. Keys.

Ran.