After class ended, I walked out of the lab with a sigh of relief. Professor Harding's voice was still echoing in my head, every word heavy like a hammer. Honestly, if eye rolls could kill, I would've been buried by now.
But thankfully, not all professors were like him.
"Emma," a warm voice called behind me.
I turned and saw Professor Carson walking toward me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his chef's coat. He wasn't the kind of teacher who barked orders or glared like we were disappointments. He actually listened. He explained things twice if you didn't get them the first time. And most importantly, he gave me the space to make mistakes and fix them.
Carson was one of the good ones.
I smiled as he caught up to me. "Hi, Professor."
He tilted his head, studying me in that gentle, thoughtful way he always did. "Rough day again?"
I laughed weakly. "Do I really look that bad?"
"Not bad," he said, smiling. "Just… like someone who's fighting too many battles at once."
Ouch. Too accurate.
I shrugged, not trusting myself to say more.
We walked together down the long corridor. Students rushed past us, some laughing, some already stressing about exams. My backpack felt heavier with every step, probably because I was thinking about more than just books. Rent. Groceries. Tessa's school fees. Katie's share that never stretched far enough. My scholarship covered me, but not the others. And life didn't exactly slow down just because you were twenty-four and tired all the time.
Professor Carson cleared his throat. "Emma, are you still looking for a job?"
I blinked at him. "Yes, sir. Why?"
He nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer. "I figured. You've mentioned before that you're helping support your sister. And your friend too, yes?"
"Yeah." My voice was softer now. "Katie tries, but she can't afford much. Tessa's in her final year, and the fees are… well, you know. I've been job hunting for months, but it's hard. Most places want experienced cooks. Head chefs. People with years in the industry. I barely get past the interview stage."
He looked at me carefully, his expression unreadable. "There might be something."
My heart skipped. "Something?"
"A gig," he said. "It's part-time, but it's respectable. Not an easy environment, though."
I didn't even think before blurting, "Yes, sir! I'll take it!"
Carson chuckled. "You don't even know the details yet."
I straightened my shoulders. "Doesn't matter. I need it. Whatever it is, I'll do my best."
He gave me a searching look, like he was weighing my determination against my track record. Then he sighed. "Emma, your attendance is already low. Even if it's part-time, the people I'm recommending you to are very disciplined. They won't tolerate carelessness. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I nodded quickly. "I won't let you down, Professor. I promise. I'll manage my classes and the job. I have to."
"Hmm." His lips curved slightly, but his eyes still carried doubt. "You remind me of myself when I was your age. Too stubborn to say no."
"Stubborn keeps me alive," I joked, though the truth stung.
He stopped at the door to his office, reached inside, and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. He handed it to me. "This is the address. Go there tomorrow morning at eleven. Be prepared with your resume and whatever documents you think might help. I've already shared some of your details, but you'll need to prove yourself in person."
I held the paper like it was a golden ticket. "Thank you, sir. Really. Thank you so much for this opportunity."
His smile was kind, almost fatherly. "Don't thank me yet. Nail it first. Then we'll celebrate."
"I will," I said firmly. "I promise."
He waved me off, probably heading to another lecture, leaving me in the hallway buzzing with nervous energy.
I unfolded the parchment, my eyes scanning the neat handwriting.
An address. A time. A name I didn't recognize.
Something about it felt… important. Bigger than the odd café or bakery job I'd been rejected from.
I tucked it carefully into my notebook, excitement fizzing in my chest.
Finally. Finally, a chance.
As I walked toward the bus stop, the reality of my situation tugged at me again. I thought about Katie, how she always tried to contribute but barely managed her own part-time work. I thought about Tessa, bright, hopeful, but constantly worried that her dreams would be crushed if we couldn't pay her fees.
I was a scholarship student, sure, but life wasn't just about me anymore. It hadn't been for a long time.
This job… if I got it… could change things.
It could mean stability. Breathing room. Maybe even hope.
I pressed my hand over the parchment tucked inside my bag, whispering to myself as the evening breeze rushed over me:
"Tomorrow, Emma. Tomorrow you have to nail it."