Sometimes the hardest part of a journey isn't leaving home—it's arriving somewhere new and realizing you have to build a life from scratch.
The flight to San Francisco was five and a half hours of anxiety and second-guessing.
Ethan sat in a middle seat between a businessman who worked the entire flight and a teenager who slept with headphones on. He tried to read the onboarding materials TechVenture had sent—company overview, intern program structure, project descriptions—but the words blurred together.
What was he doing?
He'd left his family. Left Vanessa. Left everything familiar to fly across the country for a job that paid barely enough to survive on.
But it's an investment, he reminded himself. Three months of struggle now for years of better opportunities later.
He pulled out his phone—still on airplane mode—and looked at his photos. His mom and Lily at dinner last week. Vanessa at the going-away party. The community center kids holding up their goodbye card.
He was doing this for them.
For a future where he could actually support his family instead of just barely keeping them afloat.
The plane landed at 2:47 PM Pacific time.
San Francisco International Airport was massive and overwhelming—crowds everywhere, announcements in multiple languages, the smell of coffee and cleaning products and humanity.
Ethan grabbed his single suitcase from baggage claim and followed signs to ground transportation.
The TechVenture housing was in Mountain View, about 45 minutes south. The onboarding packet had suggested taking the company shuttle from the airport, but that cost $35.
The public bus was $7 and took two hours with transfers.
Ethan chose the bus.
His mother's check for $2,000 was safely in his account, but he'd promised himself he'd only touch it for emergencies. Regular expenses—food, transportation, everything else—had to come from the stipend.
And that meant making choices like this.
Two hours on a bus instead of forty-five minutes in a shuttle.
It was fine. He'd brought a book.
The bus system was confusing—three different lines, transfers at unfamiliar stops, announcements he could barely hear over the engine noise.
But he figured it out.
By 5:30 PM, he was standing outside the intern housing complex in Mountain View—a modern apartment building with "TechVenture Summer Housing" on a placard by the door.
He punched in the code they'd sent him and took the elevator to the third floor.
Apartment 3C.
He knocked, then used his key when no one answered.
The apartment was nice—much nicer than his family's place back home. Open-plan living room and kitchen, large windows, new furniture, a TV mounted on the wall.
And three bedroom doors, two of which were closed.
"Hello?" Ethan called.
One of the doors opened, and a guy about his age emerged—tall, Asian, wearing a Stanford hoodie.
"You must be Ethan. I'm David Chen. Stanford, computer science." He extended his hand.
"Ethan Cross. Silverbrook University." They shook hands.
"Cool. You're in the room on the left. The other guys haven't shown up yet—I got here this morning." David gestured around. "Kitchen's fully stocked with basics. Everyone's responsible for their own food, but there's shared stuff like oil, salt, whatever. Bathroom schedule is on the fridge. Orientation is tomorrow at 9 AM."
"Thanks."
"No problem. Oh, and there's a group chat for all the interns. I'll add you."
Ethan's phone buzzed immediately—a notification for a group chat with 47 members.
Forty-seven interns.
All computer science students from top universities.
All brilliant and ambitious and probably way more prepared than he was.
"Thanks," Ethan said again.
He retreated to his room—small but functional, with a bed, desk, closet, and window overlooking the parking lot.
He unpacked his single suitcase: clothes for three months, toiletries, laptop, a few textbooks he thought he might need, and a framed photo of his family.
He set the photo on the desk and sat on the bed.
It was 6:00 PM Pacific. 9:00 PM back home.
He pulled out his phone and called Vanessa.
She answered on the first ring. "You landed!"
"Yeah. A few hours ago. Just got to the housing."
"How is it?"
"Nice. Really nice, actually. I have one roommate so far—David, from Stanford. Two more coming later."
"Are you okay? You sound stressed."
"Just—processing. It's a lot. The airport, the bus system, being here." He looked around the empty room. "It's really hitting me that I'm going to be here for three months."
"You're going to be great."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true. Ethan, you earned this. You deserve to be there."
"I hope so."
They talked for another thirty minutes—Vanessa describing her day with his mom and Lily, Ethan describing the flight and the apartment.
"I miss you already," Vanessa said.
"I miss you too. But it's only three months."
"Only three months," she echoed. "We can do this."
"We can do this."
After they hung up, Ethan sat in the quiet room and tried to convince himself it was true.
His other two roommates arrived within the hour.
Marcus Washington—MIT, loud and confident, with strong opinions about everything.
And James Park—Carnegie Mellon, quiet and intense, already working on something on his laptop before he'd even finished unpacking.
They all gathered in the living room around 8 PM, ordering pizza and making awkward small talk.
"So, Silverbrook," Marcus said, looking at Ethan. "That's a good school. Not Ivy League, but solid."
"It's a great school," Ethan said, trying not to sound defensive.
"Oh, totally. I just meant—you know. It's interesting that they took someone from outside the usual pipeline."
"The usual pipeline?"
"MIT, Stanford, Carnegie Mellon, Berkeley. That's where most tech companies recruit from." Marcus shrugged. "But they're trying to diversify now. Which is cool."
Ethan felt something cold settle in his stomach.
Was that why he'd gotten the internship? Not because he was talented, but because he was from a less prestigious school? A diversity hire?
"I'm sure that's not why they accepted you," David said quickly, reading Ethan's expression. "They don't take people just to fill quotas. You must have had a killer application."
"Yeah," James added, speaking for the first time. "The acceptance rate for this program is like 3%. They only take the best."
Ethan wanted to believe them.
But Marcus's words lingered.
Interesting that they took someone from outside the usual pipeline.
Orientation the next morning was overwhelming.
Forty-seven interns crammed into a conference room at TechVenture headquarters—a sleek glass building that looked like something from a sci-fi movie.
Dr. Amanda Chen—the woman who'd interviewed him—gave the opening presentation.
"Welcome to TechVenture! You are the top 3% of applicants. You were chosen not just for your technical skills, but for your creativity, your potential, and your ability to solve complex problems."
She went through the program structure: ten weeks of project work, two weeks for final presentations. Interns would be divided into teams of four or five, each working on a different project for actual TechVenture clients.
"Your work will be evaluated by senior engineers, and the top projects will be presented to our executive team. Outstanding performance can lead to full-time job offers after graduation."
Full-time job offers.
That was the real prize.
Not just the internship experience, but a path to a career at a company like this. A starting salary of $90,000 or more. Financial stability. A way to actually support his family.
After the presentation, they broke into teams.
Ethan was assigned to Team Seven: himself, David, a girl from Berkeley named Maya Rodriguez, and two guys from UCLA named Alex Chen and Jordan Smith.
"Okay, Team Seven!" Maya said enthusiastically. She was short and energetic, with bright purple highlights in her dark hair. "We're going to crush this."
"What's our project?" Alex asked.
Dr. Chen handed them a folder. "Accessibility tools for visually impaired users. You'll be working with our accessibility team to develop and test a new screen reader prototype."
Ethan's heart jumped. Accessibility tools. This was exactly the kind of work he'd told them he was passionate about in his application.
Maybe he really did belong here.
The first week was a blur of onboarding, meetings, and trying to find his footing.
The work was challenging but exciting. His team was talented and collaborative. The TechVenture offices were incredible—free food, game rooms, nap pods, everything designed to keep employees happy and productive.
But beneath the excitement was constant stress.
Ethan quickly realized that living on $2,000 a month in Silicon Valley—even with housing provided—was going to be harder than he'd thought.
Groceries were expensive. A carton of eggs cost $7. Bread was $5. A week's worth of basic food was easily $80-100.
He did the math.
$400 a month for food meant about $12 a day. Doable, but only if he was very careful.
Breakfast: coffee and a banana ($2).
Lunch: sandwich from home ($3).
Dinner: pasta or rice with vegetables ($7).
No eating out. No social meals with other interns. No spontaneous coffee runs or team lunches at restaurants.
The company provided free lunch on Wednesdays—that would help.
But it meant being very, very disciplined.
By Friday of the first week, Ethan was exhausted.
The work was intense—full days of coding, meetings, code reviews. Then the commute home on the bus—an hour each way because he couldn't afford the company shuttle.
He left the apartment at 7 AM to catch the bus.
He got home around 7 PM.
Twelve-hour days.
And he still had to make dinner, do laundry, call Vanessa, and try to sleep enough to do it all again.
Friday night, he collapsed on his bed and video-called Vanessa.
"You look exhausted," she said immediately.
"I am exhausted."
"How's it going?"
"Good. Hard, but good. My team is great. The project is interesting. I'm learning a ton."
"But?"
"But I'm tired. And I miss home. And—" He stopped.
"What?"
"The other interns keep going out for dinner after work. Getting drinks, hanging out. Building relationships. And I can't afford to go."
"Have you told them that?"
"No. I just make excuses. Say I'm tired or have work to do." Ethan rubbed his face. "I feel like I'm already behind, socially. Everyone else is bonding and networking and I'm just—going home to eat cheap pasta alone."
"Ethan—"
"I know. I know this is part of it. I knew it would be hard. But it's only been a week and I already feel like an outsider."
Vanessa was quiet for a moment. "Do you want to come home?"
"What? No. I can't—"
"I'm serious. If this is too much, if you're miserable, you can come home. Your mom and I would understand."
"I'm not quitting after one week."
"I'm not saying quit. I'm saying—don't destroy yourself trying to prove something. If it's not sustainable, it's okay to admit that."
"It's sustainable. I just need to adjust." Ethan tried to smile. "I'm fine. Really. Just tired and homesick."
"Okay. But Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"Promise me you'll tell me if it gets too hard. If you need help. Don't suffer in silence."
"I promise."
After they hung up, Ethan lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.
One week down.
Eleven more to go.
He could do this.
He had to do this.
For his family. For his future. For the life he was trying to build.
Even if it meant being tired and lonely and hungry.
Even if it meant missing everyone he loved.
He could do this.
He had to.