When Anya received the call for the interview, a surge of disbelief and excitement rushed through her. She was thrilled finally, a response after countless applications and polite rejection emails. Her fingers trembled slightly as she ended the call, and before her mind even caught up, she had already dialed her parents and her brother. Their joy echoed through the phone, their voices like soft cushions that wrapped around her anxious heart. But she didn't tell anyone else. She wanted to hold on to the moment a little longer cherish it privately before the world could rush in with questions, advice, or expectations.
The morning of the interview arrived, crisp and cold, the kind of chill that made your breath visible and fingertips tingle. Anya took her time getting ready, wanting to feel composed and confident. She reached for her favorite floral dress cream-colored with delicate blue, ash, and white blossoms scattered like soft brushstrokes across the fabric. The oversized sleeves cinched gently at her forearms, forming a graceful silhouette that swayed as she moved. The square neckline offered a poised elegance, and though the dress could be worn off-shoulder for a breezier look, Anya chose to keep it formal for the occasion, striking a balance between charm and professionalism.
She styled her hair into soft waves that framed her face, glossy and tame thanks to a little oil she'd run through them that morning to battle the winter's frizz. Her olive-toned eyes stood out more than usual, highlighted subtly with mascara and a hint of neutral eyeshadow, while a touch of blush warmed her cheeks. Her lips carried a gentle nude hue—simple, classic, and unmistakably her.
As always, she completed her look with her favorite type of jewelry earrings. Today's choice was a pair of hoops with tiny cream flowers dangling delicately from them, echoing the floral print of her dress. Earrings were more than just accessories to her; they were tiny expressions of her personality. Her collection was vast hoops of all sizes, some beaded with colorful stones, others shaped like flowers or accented with pearls and pebbles. No matter the day, she found one to suit her mood.
Her hands, too, were thoughtfully tended. Anya had long, graceful fingers that she secretly adored. She often said they were her favorite part of herself. Her nails weren't overly long, nor clipped too short they were just right, each shaped neatly and painted in a soft mauve polish that added an extra layer of polish to her look. Every detail felt intentional, quietly reinforcing the self-assurance she was trying to channel that morning.
She considered taking the bus, having already checked the local transport app. Trains were pricey and with two buses involved, the journey felt long and confusing. But this was her first real interview in a foreign country, and the last thing she needed was a panic attack in a new neighborhood. So, she made the sensible choice: a cab. She murmured a little apology to her budget and booked the ride.
The restaurant was further away than expected, tucked into a cozy corner of the city. She arrived at 2:40 p.m. for her 3:00 p.m. interview. The place had a charming, welcoming exterior with gentle jazz music wafting through the windows. It wasn't massive, but big enough to hold 30 to 40 tables, with a small bar and an open kitchen where chefs moved like dancers behind flames.
She tried opening the door and failed.
For a second, she stood there, confused and unsure, pushing instead of pulling. Then a woman inside, with a bright smile, came over and opened it with a gentle tug. That's when it hit her. "Oh, I did it the other way," she blurted out, laughing nervously. The woman laughed too, instantly easing the tension.
The manager, Kristina, was warm and down-to-earth a woman in her mid-forties with soft eyes, shoulder-length chestnut hair, and a confident, approachable smile that instantly made Anya feel more at ease. She welcomed Anya into the cozy restaurant space that smelled faintly of roasted herbs and coffee beans, and gently asked if she'd like something to drink.
At first, Anya refused politely, not wanting to seem demanding or overly casual. But when Kristina offered again with a kind smile and a slight tilt of her head that said, "It's okay, really," Anya hesitated for a moment before shyly replying, "Maybe a coffee with sugar, please."
Kristina nodded and soon returned with two steaming cups, handing one to Anya before sitting down across from her. The warmth of the coffee seeped through the ceramic and into Anya's palms, easing the lingering chill from outside. It wasn't just the heat of the drink that warmed her—it was Kristina's calm demeanor, the way she spoke in a friendly, conversational tone rather than in formal, clipped questions.
What Anya expected to be a stiff, nerve-racking interview began to feel more like a relaxed chat between two women getting to know each other. The clinking of cups, the soft background jazz, and Kristina's reassuring presence stripped away the formal edge. It was less an interrogation and more a conversation something personal, human. The kind of connection that makes someone feel seen, not judged.
Their conversation started light, almost like two old friends catching up after time apart. "You have beautiful hair," Kristina said warmly, her eyes genuinely appreciative. It wasn't the kind of compliment that felt forced or obligatory it came with softness, as if she had noticed it right away but waited for the right moment to say it.
That small comment melted away the last of Anya's nerves. She chuckled, brushing her fingers through her long, wavy hair, which she had taken extra care with that morning. "I was really nervous before walking in," she admitted, her voice still a little breathy from lingering adrenaline, "but talking to you is actually... calming. You're so easy to talk to."
Kristina leaned back with a relaxed posture, nodding slightly. "I saw you hesitating at the door," she said, smiling with kindness. "But don't worry everyone has their first-day jitters. Trust me, I've seen it all."
Anya felt her body relax further into the chair, her shoulders lowering slightly. The warmth of the coffee in her hands paired perfectly with the atmosphere low jazz music playing softly in the background, the occasional clinking of cutlery from the kitchen, and the hum of low conversation from a few early diners. The restaurant had a calm rhythm that matched Kristina's energy.
Eventually, the conversation moved to experience. Anya, choosing honesty over pretension, admitted openly that she had no prior work experience in the restaurant industry. "But I learn quickly," she added, hoping her voice didn't sound too unsure.
Kristina didn't flinch. She simply nodded and said, "That's okay. We give training for everything. What matters most is attitude and you seem to have the right one."
Then, almost casually, Kristina added, "We're actually looking for someone in their early twenties. Sometimes the younger ones like those still in college struggle with reliability. We've had a few no-shows in the past month."
Anya tilted her head slightly, a smile tugging at her lips. "Well, I'm 28," she said, letting it settle gently into the air.
Kristina blinked, clearly taken aback. "No way! I thought you were 23-24 at most. You look so young!"
Anya laughed, warmth bubbling up from inside. Compliments from women always hit differently not flattery wrapped in expectation, but sincere gestures of connection. "Thanks," she said with a soft laugh. "It's probably the earrings."
Kristina chuckled too, her own cup nearly empty now. "Whatever it is, it works. But more than looks, it's nice talking to someone who knows herself."
In that moment, the boundary between interviewer and interviewee seemed to dissolve. It wasn't an interrogation. It felt more like two women each navigating their own chapters of life exchanging stories over warm coffee and winter light. Anya didn't know if she'd get the job yet, but she did know this: she had shown up, and she had been herself.
Once the interview ended, Anya stepped out into the crisp air with a soft, lingering smile playing on her lips. The sun had moved higher, but it offered no warmth just a pale glow in the overcast sky. Her fingers curled into her coat pockets as she stood for a moment on the pavement, letting everything sink in. The conversation with Kristina had left her with a strange, buoyant feeling like she'd just made a friend rather than sat through an interview.
She glanced toward the main road, then at her phone. "No more cabs today," she muttered to herself with quiet conviction, remembering her budget. She had already taken one this morning and didn't want to chip away more from the little she had set aside for the week.
With a renewed sense of resolve, she walked toward the nearest bus stop. Her floral dress fluttered beneath her coat with each gust of wind, and she tugged it tighter around her. The stop looked deserted, not unusual, but something about it felt... off. Still, she waited. A bus approached, and she stepped forward eagerly but it zoomed past. No brake lights. No sign of slowing.
Confused, she turned to glance around. Was she standing in the wrong spot?
Another bus came, and this one turned left at the junction instead of heading straight. Her heart dropped. Something wasn't right.
She stared after the disappearing vehicle, brows knit, arms crossed tightly to trap warmth. Her toes were starting to go numb. Her mind spiraled into uncertainty should she keep waiting? Had the route changed? Was she stranded?
Frustration mixed with embarrassment swirled in her chest. She hated not knowing, hated the feeling of being unprepared. The wind nipped harder at her cheeks, making her eyes water. She pulled her scarf higher and looked around, hoping for a sign, a timetable, anything.
And then like a twist of fate a low rumble made her turn. A familiar bus slowed right in front of her and stopped. Anya blinked in surprise.
The doors opened with a soft hiss, and a woman driver leaned slightly out, one brow raised beneath her cap. "You coming in? I saw you earlier."
For a moment, Anya was too stunned to reply. She nodded quickly, climbing in as warmth wrapped around her like a blanket.
As she tapped her card, the driver asked, "Didn't you know this stop's not working?" Her tone wasn't harsh just curious, amused even.
Anya shook her head, breathless, her cheeks still red from cold and slight embarrassment. "I didn't," she said quietly. "I just... assumed."
The driver gave a half-laugh, more of a warm exhale. "Most people would've given up. Figured you were still waiting. Thought I'd swing back."
Anya looked at her, this stranger behind the wheel, and felt her chest tighten with gratitude. It wasn't just a ride. It was someone seeing her when she felt invisible someone going slightly out of their way just because they could.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
The woman nodded once, eyes on the road again. "No problem."
As the bus pulled forward and the city streets rolled by, Anya sat by the window, hands folded in her lap, quietly smiling. The cold hadn't gone, but inside her, something had warmed.
That night, Anya finally reached home, chilled to the bone but somehow glowing from the day's unexpected kindness. She slipped off her coat and shoes, trading them for soft, warm clothes that wrapped around her like a comforting hug. The cold seemed to melt away as she stepped into the bathroom and let the hot water pour over her steam swirling around her like a gentle cloud. The warmth seeped into her muscles, washing away the tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
After the shower, wrapped in a fluffy towel, she made her way to the kitchen. She reheated some colorful fried rice she had made earlier bright with peas, carrots, and bits of spicy chicken its scent filling the small room with homely comfort. Settling back onto her bed with a steaming cup of tea in hand, she allowed herself to unwind fully.
She looked out the window at the quiet street below, the faint glow of distant lamps casting soft pools of light. Her mind replayed the day the nervousness at the door, Kristina's warmth, the kind bus driver's unexpected turnaround. Maybe this city wasn't so unfamiliar after all.
Her fingers curled around the warm mug as she thought about tomorrow. She pulled up the train schedules on her phone again and realized that if she got the job, she'd have a thirty-minute walk from the station to the restaurant each day. A little daunting, yes but then she smiled.
"Well, that's my daily steps sorted," she murmured to herself, the sound a soft giggle that floated warmly through the room.
For the first time in a long while, she felt hopeful ready for the days ahead, come rain or shine.