Congrats on Fifteen Years

Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. "Donations are down again."

"OFAC," Kamran said. "The sanctions. Banks won't process transfers to Iranian organizations."

"They've frozen so many accounts," Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. "What about Bitcoin?"

Kamran laughed. "You and your Bitcoin."

"It's censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—"

Kamran cut him off. "It's a scam, Shayan."

"It's not—"

Kamran interrupted again. "It's internet money for criminals."

"It's decentralized—"

Roya held up her hand. "Shayan. We're not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item."

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

"Actually," he said, like he'd been waiting for his turn. "While we're on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?"

Shadi perked up. "Oh, we got great numbers on that."

Kamran pulled up his tablet. "27,000 impressions. Very high engagement."

"How much did we spend?" Sean asked.

"$1,200," Shadi answered.

"And how much did we raise?"

Kamran scrolled. "$180. Four donations."

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. "You spent $1,200 to raise $180."

"But the impressions—" Shadi started.

"Were mostly bots." He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. "Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots."

Kamran frowned at his tablet. "The report said—"

"The report Instagram sent you." Sean tapped to the next slide. "When was the last time you watched an ad on there?"

Kamran chuckled. "I usually skip 'em."

"Everyone skips them," Shadi agreed.

"Right." Sean let that sit. "So why would anyone watch ours?"

"If it's good?" Shadi offered.

"Maybe." Sean pulled up an article. "But here's the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive."

Roya sat up. "They censored us?"

"Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you'd posted organically for free."

"That's—" Shadi looked at Kamran. "Can they do that?"

"They're Meta." He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. "So what do we do? Try TikTok?"

"No."

"Facebook?"

"Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That's their business model."

"Then what's the alternative?" Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. "Make something people actually want to share."

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn't blink. "And who is making these videos?"

"We ask younger volunteers," he said. "The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills."

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

"Let's pause on ads," Roya said. "We'll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research."

Kamran closed his tablet. "Yes. Merci, Shayan."

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she'd never know.

One hour later

Sean walked into a very loud Union Market. Coffee, hot oil, and AC struggling to keep up with the late spring heat.

He grabbed a lamb kabab platter from one counter, a bulgogi bowl from another, and a couple of bottles of water. Stopped for two slices of tres leches on the way. Carried all of it in one hand. Napkins in the other.

He spotted two seats at a long communal table. Sat in one. Saved the other.

He laid everything out.

"All this for me?"

Sean looked up. Smiled. "Half is for me."

He got up to give Nima a hug. "Che khabar?"

"We missed you last week. Khobee? How was Vegas?"

Nima grabbed one of the water bottles. Sean slid a bowl over to him.

"Well?" Nima tried to meet his eyes. "The Bitcoin conference of your dreams?"

Sean kept his head down. Stuffed a spoonful of rice in his mouth.

Nima waited.

"Khob bood." Sean finally spoke. "I met some interesting people. Glad I went."

"All business?" Nima leaned in. "No pleasure?"

Sean rolled his eyes. Kept eating.

Nima pushed the bowl back and grabbed the kabab plate. "How was the board meeting?"

Sean made a face.

"That's why I stopped going..." Nima took a bite. "Always so depressing."

Sean stopped eating. Sighed. "They just have so much working against them. Even when they try."

"The sanctions make it impossible. It's by design." Nima didn't look up. "I can't be unproductive like that."

"They have options though." Sean leaned back. "They're so stuck on defense they can't even see them."

Nima sat back. Rubbed his temples. "I'm just not sure there is anything we can do."

"Yes there is. I just want to help. No one lets me." Sean stared at his food. "I feel like shit at work every day. Nothing moves forward."

"Then why are you still there?" Nima waved his hand over himself. "They're literally paying people to leave."

Sean shook his head. "Nah. I don't trust it. And if everyone good leaves, who's left?"

Nima rolled his eyes. "You could make so much more in private sector."

"That's not why I do it." He crushed his empty water bottle. "Whatever. At least they actually listened to me today."   "How?" Nima smirked.

Sean sat up. "I got them to stop buying Instagram ads."

"That's a good thing?"

"The math was too ugly to argue with."

"Look at Shayan. Making moves." Nima pinched Sean's cheek. "Afarin!"

"Speaking of... did you see this?" Nima pulled out his phone. "I got eleven thousand views since Tuesday."

"11k O-K!" Sean pretended to dust off Nima's shoulders. "Congrats man. Well deserved." He kept watching. "You looked great."

Nima pretended to blush. "But this is on TikTok. Instagram is dead man."

"I'm barely on it anymore," Sean agreed.

"Well now I'm on TikTok too much." Nima laughed. "Just sucks I can't bring my followers over."

"How many did you have?" Sean asked.

"I just hit four thousand on IG two months ago."

"4k O-K!" Sean grinned. "Look at you!"

"Yeah." Nima shrugged. "But there are so many more people on TikTok."

"It's their algorithm."

Nima shook his head. "I think people just want to watch videos. Instagram is too busy. TikTok is this fullscreen, one at a time..."

"Yeah." Sean kept nodding. "You're right. I like that about it."

"It feels like FaceTime."

"And who doesn't want to FaceTime with such a professional, car detailing expert." Sean reached over to pinch Nima's cheeks.

Nima pulled away before he could. "I'm famous now. Please don't touch me."

They both started laughing.

"I'm happy for you, man." Sean patted Nima on the back. "This is only the beginning. Lemme buy you a real drink to celebrate."

26 minutes later

"So." Nima took a sip of his bottle. "What happened to that girl? Ken's coworker?"

Sean groaned.

"She was nice." Nima sat up. "Come on, what was wrong with her?"

"She was a lovely person." Sean smiled like he meant it.

"But..."

Sean dropped his head back and exhaled. "I carried the whole conversation. All fucking night."

"Oh, she was boring?" Nima winced. "Ken said she had a good time."

"She wasn't boring. She just wasn't—" He stopped.

"Wasn't what?"

"Excited. About anything." Sean picked at the label on his bottle. "Every date I'm on just wants to make sure we agree on how the world is ending. Whose fault it is."

Nima slowly nodded.

Sean leaned forward. "I just want to talk to someone who's excited about something."

"People are stressed out but yeah," Nima agreed. "Sometimes you loosen up by the second date."

Sean interrupted him. "No. Absolutely not. I can tell. Honestly, almost immediately."

"Oh come on." Nima threw a napkin at him.

"I try. I really do." Sean laughed. "But I've got nothing left after an hour on these dates. I can't do a second."

"I think you're just being impatient."

"No. I'm finally being serious." Sean sat up straight. "Attraction isn't enough anymore. I'll wait for my wife."

Nima smirked. "She'll be so happy to know these streets didn't get more than an hour of you. At a time."

Sean tossed the napkin back at him. "You're so dumb."

"But come on. I was rooting for Vegas." Nima frowned. "Women talking Bitcoin. Nerding out with you. Probably dressed in orange." He was cracking himself up.

Sean's eyes moved slowly to his phone. He stared at it for a moment.

Nima stopped laughing. Watched Sean. Sean didn't notice.

"Sha-yan."

"I'm fine." Sean shook it off. Took a sip from his bottle. "Just being aggressively reminded how single I am. For some reason."

Nima squinted at him. "When's the last time you swiped?"

Sean blinked. "No thanks."

"Six months?"

"I'm enjoying the peace."

Nima reached across the table. "Hand it over."

"Nima—"

"Summer is here. Time to live." Nima held out his hand. Waited.

Sean hesitated.

Unlocked his phone. Handed it over.

Nima reactivated Sean's very old dating profile.

"There." He slid the phone back. "You're back on the market."

Sean put the phone in his pocket.

He steered the conversation away from himself. They talked about Nima's employees. About the permit issues on his shop's expansion. About the two dates Nima had lined up for next week.

Sean's phone stayed in his pocket.

Dating app active.

Unopened.

Two days later

Sean was sitting alone in a row of empty, dusty cubicles. Knees almost touching the desk. The steam from his tea escaping from his thermos.

He typed an email.

Subject: RE: New Ticketing System Proposal

Good Morning Yvette and team. Hope everyone had a great weekend. Checking in on the decision here. We presented this proposal six months ago. Any update on next steps?

Best, Sean

Sent.

A head popped over the cubicle wall. Denise.

"Still waiting on that?"

"Yeah." Sean answered. "Impatiently."

"I remember your presentation was really good." She leaned against the entrance. "I'm sure they're giving it the consideration it deserves."

The sarcastic tone landed.

"Why do they always drag this shit out?" Sean inhaled the cardamom steam from his thermos. "We're trapped in a time warp in this building."

A loud Teams notification popped up.

Sean flinched.

"Lunch later?" she asked.

"Yes. Please." He didn't look up. But he smiled.

"Happy in-office mandatory Monday!" She waved. Walked back to her own empty row of cubicles.

He drew the cardamom in one more time. Read the screen.

Luis Morales: R u free?

Sean wondered that too.

43 seconds later

Sean walked into Luis' office.

"Please tell me you brought it." Luis stood up from his desk, hopeful.

"Finally." Sean tossed over a 'Viva Las Vegas' plastic bag. "Sorry about last week."

Luis pulled out a Backstreet Boys concert tee. "Jessica's gonna love this." He reached for his phone. "Venmo okay?"

"Whatever works."

Luis tapped his screen. Frowned. "It's saying I hit my weekly limit." He looked up. "Can I bring you cash?"

Sean opened his mouth. Closed it. Sat down.

"What?" Luis stayed standing.

"Nothing." Sean smiled. "Cash is fine."

"I'll hit the ATM at lunch."

"No rush." Sean winked. "I know where you work."

Luis laughed. Put the shirt back in the bag. Set it aside. Sat down slowly.

"Sean." His tone shifted. "So you know your osTicket presentation was excellent. They agree we need to modernize. But they're going with ServiceNow."

"Since when?" Sean sat frozen.

"Yvette just called me."

"How much is the contract?"

Silence.

Sean shot up from his seat. "How much?"

"Five million dollars."

Sean scoffed. "Mine costs $280,000."

"Someone upstairs has relationships with ServiceNow. It's done." Luis sighed. "I'm sorry."

Sean turned to face the window. Jaw tight. The Capitol sat close enough to see from Luis' office.

Luis leaned back in his chair. "We'll get them next time. At least they agreed to modernize. And you'll still lead the design. This is still a win. Your win."

"Lucky me." Sean rolled his eyes. "We're wasting five million dollars. Not even waste. This is abuse of taxpayer funds."

Luis shut his eyes. Held up his hand. "Let's not go that far."

"We never do." Sean was still facing the window.

Luis opened his desk drawer. Pulled out a bumpy envelope. "Maybe not the best time to give this to you."

Sean eyed it.

"But congratulations on fifteen years."

They both laughed. But it wasn't funny.

"You're a great public servant, Sean. We're lucky to have you."

Sean pulled out a pin from the envelope.

He stared at it.

Fifteen years.

"Here's to six more days of annual leave a year!" Luis shouted as Sean headed out the door.

Sean looked back. Forced a smile.

Tomorrow he would take one of those days off.

8 hours later

Sean kicked off his shoes at the door. Eyes on his phone. Dropped his keys and his takeout on the counter with his free hand.

He turned on a lamp on his way to the couch. Then another. His apartment warmed in layers.

He sat down on his rug. Back against the couch. Phone still in his hand. Reached for the remote with the other.

The Silicon Valley theme song played on the TV. Started watching three days ago. Almost done with season 2.

He grabbed his laptop from the coffee table. Put his phone down.

A Nostr feed on his screen.

He took a deep breath.

He searched #grownostr.

He waited.

Then, spam. Bots. A sprinkle of crypto scams.

He almost closed it.

Then a real post.

"Account got banned from X this morning. Six years of work gone. And my 11k followers. Any way to bring them over here?"

People offered condolences.

He scrolled.

Photos of people's breakfast. News clips. Memes declaring both Nostr and Bitcoin dead.

A journalist in Istanbul asked for help.

"Any Nostriches in Istanbul? The banks just froze my cards. I'm here covering the protests. Hotel won't take Bitcoin. I need a place to convert to Lira."

Within the hour, replies named cafes in Beyoğlu that took Lightning, three peer-to-peer sellers with reputations, and someone in Istanbul who offered to meet her in person.

He scrolled on.

A debate linked to a smart blog about censorship resistance.

Someone published a Bitcoin children's book. People were buying it directly from her.

No publisher.

No Amazon.

Just her and the readers.

The TV started playing Silicon Valley theme song again. He paused it.

"Hot take: reposts are better than zaps."

This was the busiest thread he'd seen yet.

"Without an algorithm, I need people to share what I've posted or I'll never grow my reach."

"I don't need more people to see my stuff if I'm already making money off what I post."

Sean spent more time in that rabbit hole than he expected.

His clicks kept taking him out of the app. But he kept coming back.

He had expected the worst. A dumpster fire. No moderation. No rules.

But he was deciding what he'd see. He wasn't getting angry. Or jealous.

There were debates. Discussions. Not fights.

He spent the most time in threads on what'll get people to move over to Nostr.

"What'll bring the next billion users?"

"The UX is awful. And the name."

"We need to stop rebuilding Twitter."

He looked up to check the clock.

Way too late.

He kept going anyway.

The next night

Same spot. Silicon Valley on mute. TikTok in hand.

A video about why ancient Roman concrete is stronger than modern concrete. The kind of thing Sean loved.

He went to the comments.

"This is my Roman Empire."

"I'll never NOT scroll on a video about concrete"

"I BUILT THIS FYP CONCRETE BRICK BY CONCRETE BRICK"

That last one stopped him.

I built this.

He closed TikTok. Opened Nostr. A thread he saved. "We need to stop rebuilding Twitter. We should be building what comes next."

He looked at the 21 sats in the wallet. The first Bitcoin anyone had ever sent him.

No notifications.

He decided to upload a photo. To his profile.

Then he started typing.

Replying to: "We need to stop rebuilding Twitter. We should be building what comes next."

What about something for the TikTokers? They proved they're willing to move. Why aren't we talking to them?

They know social media is broken. They left Meta because it felt like surveillance. Left X because it felt like rage.

With no other option, they went to TikTok because it felt like freedom. But we know it's not freedom. It's a different algorithm. A nicer cage. Half of them think it's getting banned. The other half already are shadow-banned and don't even know it.

Can't Nostr give them the exit they're looking for?

We know what people on social media want. A full screen, video scrolling experience. That's what won. And Instagram copied it. YouTube copied it.

Why won't Nostr copy it? But do it better.

They don't need a better algorithm. They need social media they own. Their posts. Their videos. Their identity. Their audience.

And they need zaps.

I've been here a week. I don't know how to build any of this. But why are we only building for the people already here?

#grownostr

He read it twice.

Posted it.

Set his phone down. Stared at the ceiling.