The shrill ring of my cell phone vibrating against the mahogany desk seemed to pulse in perfect synchronization with my own heartbeat. When I finally answered and heard the voice on the other end, the world around me slowed to a crawl. I had actually done it.
The confirmation that I'd been hired by Tompsons & Tompsons wasn't just a new job; it was the ultimate validation of years of sleepless nights, countless professional specializations, and the relentless effort to polish my English until the words flowed effortlessly, free from the heavy staccato of a hesitant accent. I was going to Canada. The real estate multinational was a titan in the market, and stepping into the role of HR Manager in Quebec would be the most formidable challenge of my life.
But as I stared into the vanity mirror of my bedroom in Curitiba, a single question kept hammering at the back of my mind: was I truly prepared to leave everything I knew behind?
"Are you actually going to miss us?" Laura's voice suddenly broke my trance.
I looked at the reflection and saw my sister leaning casually against the doorframe, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in her hands. Laura was ten years my senior—my North Star and, in many ways, my second mother. Her gaze was heavy with a bittersweet mixture of pride and a lingering melancholy that made my chest tighten.
"Of course I am, Lau!" I replied, turning away from the mirror to pull her into a tight hug. The familiar scent of lavender that always followed her enveloped me, and for a fleeting second, I wished I could somehow bottle that fragrance to keep in my suitcase. "I'll call every single day. I'm going to send so many gifts that you won't even have a place to store them. You'll hardly have a spare moment to feel homesick."
"Canada is cold, Sofia. But the void you're leaving behind here is much greater," she whispered, her lips curving into a forced, fragile smile.
Temperature Shock
Hours later, we found ourselves at the mall. The mission was clear: survival. As a native Brazilian accustomed to the tropical sun and the relatively mild winters of the south, the abstract concept of facing -30 degrees felt almost mystical, like a legend I wasn't sure I believed in.
"This one looks like it was tailor-made for you," Laura said, gesturing toward a heavy coat she'd pulled from a rack. It was a soft, blush-pink overcoat—my absolute favorite shade. As I slipped it on, I felt the substantial weight of the high-tech fabric, engineered specifically to withstand the brutal northern winters. I looked in the mirror and, for the first time, I didn't recognize the Sofia from Curitiba. I saw a woman who belonged among towering skyscrapers and snow-dusted avenues.
"I look like a marshmallow," I joked, though the truth was that the coat offered a strange sense of armor. I was preparing for war—or perhaps, for the birth of a brand-new life.
The Farewell and the Departure
The farewell party on the eve of my trip was a dizzying blur of laughter, suffocating hugs, and the repeated promises of "see you at Christmas." My college friends and coworkers had put together a playlist of songs that had defined our journey together. With every new track came a flood of memories; with every memory, a fresh pang of anxiety settled deep in my stomach. I had never traveled abroad alone before. The unknown was a vast, blank canvas that was finally starting to feel a little daunting.
At 7:00 AM the following morning, Amanda, my best friend, pulled up to the curb in front of my house.
"Ready for your destiny, Madam Manager?" she asked, maintaining a lighthearted tone while helping me wrestle the heavy suitcases into the car.
"Ready or not, here I go," I replied, stealing one last look at the facade of the house where I had grown up.
The drive to the airport was draped in silence. The Curitiba sky was a heavy shade of gray, as if the weather itself were mirroring my contemplative mood. At the check-in counter, the physical weight of my luggage felt insignificant compared to the crushing weight of expectation. During the layover, I found I needed a mild sedative to steady my nerves; heights had always made me uneasy, and the thought of being suspended over the dark expanse of the ocean for hours on end gave me a lingering sense of vertigo.
The New World
When the wheels finally touched down in Quebec, the contrast was jarringly immediate. The moment I stepped out of the airport, the freezing air whipped across my face, stinging my lungs in a way I had never experienced. It was a dry, biting cold that made my nose prickle and turned my breath into small, dancing clouds of vapor.
The taxi wound its way through the city's enchanting streets. Quebec looked as though it had been plucked straight from a European fairytale, complete with winding cobblestone paths and stunning historic architecture. My new apartment was functional and modern: a compact kitchen, a sun-drenched living room, and two small bedrooms that still carried the faint, sterile scent of fresh paint and cleaning supplies.
The second I dropped my bags on the floor, I collapsed onto the sofa, drained. I checked my phone to find dozens of messages waiting for me: "Did you make it?", "What's it like?", "Are you freezing yet?". I replied to each one with a weary smile. The time difference was surprisingly generous, allowing me to catch my family before they drifted off to sleep.
The Glass Giant
The next morning, pure adrenaline surged through me, replacing my exhaustion. I stood before the Tompsons & Tompsons headquarters and had to crane my neck all the way back just to glimpse the top floor. The monolith of glass and steel seemed to literally scrape the clouds.
"My God..." I whispered under my breath.
The reception area was a spectacle of modern design. Cool shades of light blue dominated the space, furnished with sofas of a white so pristine that I was genuinely afraid to sit on them. Hanging from the ceiling, a monumental chandelier fractured the light as if it were composed of thousands of meticulously polished diamonds.
I was greeted by Mr. Luka, my direct supervisor. He was a man in his fifties with a warm, paternal smile and eyes that radiated a quiet, steady wisdom. The orientation day was a whirlwind of new information: proprietary management software, complex company policies, and the nuances of their organizational culture.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted but deeply fulfilled. I hopped on a video call with Laura the moment I walked through my front door.
"Hey Lau!" I beamed, kicking off my heavy winter boots.
"Well? Don't leave me hanging! Tell me everything! How was it? Are people actually friendly? Is the building really that massive? And your boss—is he a total tyrant?" The questions flew out of her like a machine gun.
"Slow down, one at a time!" I laughed, feeling the warmth of my new heater finally begin to circulate through the room. "The office is cinematic, my view is incredible, and Mr. Luka, my boss, is a wonderful soul. He's a genuinely kind man who made me feel at home from the very first minute."
"Oh, sis, I'm so relieved," Laura sighed, and I could see her eyes shimmering through the screen. "I was so worried they'd be hostile toward you because you're a foreigner."
"Tomorrow I'll meet the rest of the team and the other departments. That's when I'll really find out who's who. But don't worry, you know your sister... I'm going to conquer this place."
We hung up after our usual exchange of affection. I sat in the ensuing silence for a moment, watching the first snowflakes begin to drift past my window, illuminated by the glow of the streetlights. I was alone in a new country, starting from zero. The cold outside was intimidating, but the fire of my ambition—and perhaps something else I couldn't quite name yet—kept me warm.
What I didn't know then was that, behind those towering glass doors of Tompsons & Tompsons, my life wouldn't just change on a professional level. Someone was about to cross my path and transform my winter into something I never could have planned for.