Talia woke up before her alarm. Her phone read 6:12, and she was already wide awake, staring at the ceiling with that strange clarity that only appeared when her body knew the day was important before her mind had even agreed.
Spike slept curled up in the corner of the bed, a ball of fur who didn't even move when she got up.
In the kitchen, she made coffee on autopilot—filter, water, grounds, wait. The smell filled the apartment like a small promise. She drank it standing up, leaning against the counter and watching the winter sky through the window, still undecided about whether it was going to cooperate.
By 7:40, she was ready. Dark blazer, silk blouse, the pants that made her legs look longer. She put on lipstick, looked in the mirror, and fixed a strand that insisted on falling across her face. She took a deep breath.
“You're going to go in there, impress the man, and walk out with the job,” she told her reflection, with a firmness that was half courage, half performance.
Spike lifted his head from the corner of the bed, ears standing straight up.
“Take care of the place,” she said, picking up her bag.
The JK building was bigger than she'd imagined. Glass, steel, straight lines rising until they vanished into the gray sky. Talia stopped on the sidewalk for a moment, feeling the sheer scale of it all, and then went inside.
At the front desk, she gave her name. The receptionist checked a list, smiled politely, and pointed down the corridor to the left. Talia walked slowly, her heels echoing across the polished floor, and when she reached the waiting room, she found only two people sitting there.
Two. Out of the entire hiring process, only three candidates were left, counting her.
“Wow,” she murmured, sitting in the farthest chair. “They really are selective.”
The other two didn't even look up. A man in a suit adjusted his tie every thirty seconds. A woman flipped through a document with the concentration of someone memorizing a prayer.
“Talia?”
The voice came from the corridor. A woman with her hair pulled back and a badge hanging around her neck waited with a professional smile.
“That's me.” Talia stood, smoothing down her blazer.
“Please follow me.”
The director's office was spacious and silent. Parted curtains let in carefully controlled light, as if even the sun needed permission to be there. Behind the desk, a middle-aged man sat with his hands folded over the mahogany surface. His expression was the kind of thing you couldn't read—cold, calculated, every facial muscle positioned exactly where he wanted it.
“Good morning,” the man said without standing.
“Good morning,” Talia replied, sitting in the indicated chair. She folded her hands in her lap to hide the slight trembling in her fingers.
The interview lasted forty minutes. He asked about her experience, numbers, impossible deadlines, and how she'd handle them. Talia answered every question while looking him in the eye, even when she wanted to look away. She kept her voice steady. She didn't stammer. When he left an answer hanging in silence for too long, she held the silence without filling it with nervous words.
At the end, the director nodded once.
“Thank you for your time.”
Talia left the office with her heart racing but her face calm. She walked down the corridor, passed the front desk, and when she pushed open the revolving door to leave the building, someone entered from the other side.
The impact was light, more surprise than force. Talia took a step back and looked up.
It was him.
The man from the park. The same face the sunlight had lit in an almost unfair way. The same eyes that had passed over her as if she were transparent. Now he was there, wearing a dark suit, only inches away, the revolving door caught between them like a comma in the middle of a sentence neither of them knew how to finish.
“Good morning,” Talia said, almost reflexively.
He looked at her. The same look. The one searching for something and not finding it. It lasted a second, maybe two. Then he looked away and kept moving, passing her without a word.
The revolving door completed its turn. Talia stepped out into the cold air and stood still on the sidewalk, her heart beating faster than it should have.
“Rude,” she said under her breath, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.
But the irritation didn't last long. Because that feeling came again—the itch in her memory, the face that belonged somewhere she couldn't reach. And now he was there, in the same building where she'd just had an interview. Coincidence. It had to be a coincidence.
She shook her head and picked up her phone.
“I’m heading out. Meet you at Mocha in fifteen.”
Clara replied in three seconds: “I’m already here. I already ordered your coffee.”
The coffee shop was on a side street, half-hidden between a flower shop and a repair store. Talia pushed open the door and heard Clara before she saw her.
“Hey! I'm over here!” Clara waved from a corner table, nearly knocking over her own cup.
Talia sat down, and as expected, a double iced Americano was already waiting for her on the table. She looked at Clara and smiled. Some things in the world still made sense.
“How'd it go?” Clara leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes wide with curiosity.
“I think I did really well,” Talia said, wrapping both hands around the cup. “The director's one of those people who doesn't show anything, you know? Stone-faced. But I answered everything, didn't freeze up, and looked him in the eye the whole time.”
“That’s my girl.” Clara slapped her palm on the table.
The two of them spent the rest of the morning there, between sips of coffee and laughter. Clara told her about the disastrous date she'd had on Tuesday. Talia told her about Spike running off in the park and the rude man who hadn't even returned her good morning. Clara made a dramatic face and said that a handsome, rude man was the most dangerous combination there was.
After lunch, Talia was on the couch at home, Spike asleep on her feet, when her phone rang. Unknown number. She answered with her heart in her throat.
“Hello, Ms. Talia? I'm calling from JK.”
“Yes, this is she.”
“We'd like to let you know that you've been approved for the position in the finance department. Congratulations.”
Talia sprang up from the couch. Spike woke up startled and began barking. She covered her mouth with one hand, holding back the scream trying to get out, and felt her eyes burn.
“Thank you,” she managed, her voice trembling. “Thank you so much.”
“You'll start tomorrow at seven. We'll send the details by email.”
She hung up. She stood in the middle of the room, phone in hand, staring at nothing.
Then she screamed.
Spike barked along, not understanding anything but joining in enthusiastically. Talia scooped him up and spun around the room, laughing and crying at the same time, repeating “I did it, I did it, I did it” as if she needed to hear her own voice say it to believe it.
She called Clara. Clara screamed louder than she did. They made plans to celebrate that weekend.
That night, Talia laid out the next day's clothes with the same care someone used to assemble armor. She set her alarm for 5:30. She lay down in bed and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she'd be a JK employee. Tomorrow, everything would change.
The revolving-door man's face appeared again. That look searching without finding. He was in the JK building. Did he work there? Was he in another department? Would she run into him again?
She turned onto her side and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Whatever. She had bigger things to think about.
But the face stayed.