The train screeched to a halt, jolting Amaira from her thoughts. She had been running over potential interview questions in her head, rehearsing her answers with silent determination. But now, as she glanced at the time on her phone, a sickening feeling of dread washed over her.

10:15 AM. The interview was at 10:30 AM, and the train wasn’t moving. She peered around at the other passengers, all equally agitated, as the overhead announcement crackled through the carriage:

“Attention passengers, due to a technical issue, the train will be delayed for a few more minutes. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Amaira groaned inwardly. Of all the days for a delay, it had to be today—her 100th interview, the one that was supposed to turn things around. She drummed her fingers nervously on her knee, trying to ignore the build up anxiety in her chest.

“What a day to be late,” she muttered to herself, staring out the window at the blurry cityscape.

After what felt like an eternity, the train finally resumed its journey. Amaira bolted out of her seat as soon as the doors opened at her stop, her mind a whirlwind of panic. She barely had 10 minutes to get to the company, and the office was a good five blocks away. With her portfolio tucked under her arm and her heels clicking against the pavement, she darted down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians with an apology here and there.

Come on, Amaira. You can’t mess this up. Not this time.

The traffic light ahead turned red, forcing her to stop at the crosswalk. She bounced on the balls of her feet, watching the seconds tick by on her phone. The stress of the day was already weighing on her, and now this delay felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke. She tapped her foot impatiently, glancing down at the address of the company in her phone's map app, and cursed under her breath.

When the light turned green, she hurried across the street, heart pounding as she glanced at the time. 10:27 AM. She had to move faster.

As she rounded a corner, Amaira passed a small coffee shop, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting in the air. She didn’t have time to stop, not today, but as she dashed past, the door to the shop suddenly swung open right in front of her.

Before she could react, she collided with a person stepping out, nearly knocking them over. She stumbled to a halt just in time, gasping as she realized what had happened. The man standing in front of her was holding a now-empty cup of coffee, the liquid dripping down his shirt.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” Amaira exclaimed, her heart sinking as she saw the mess she had caused.

The man blinked at her in stunned silence, his white button-up shirt stained with dark brown coffee. His expression shifted from shock to frustration, and Amaira winced.

“I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t see you—” she stammered, reaching into her bag for something, anything, to help. She pulled out a small handkerchief and thrust it toward him. “Here, take this! I’m so sorry. Really!”

The man, still holding his now-useless coffee cup, took the handkerchief with a bemused expression. “It’s... fine,” he said slowly, though his voice had an edge to it.

Amaira bit her lip, feeling the heat of embarrassment rush to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to... I’m really, really sorry. I’m just... I’m late for a job interview, and I wasn’t paying attention.”

The man’s brows furrowed slightly, but before he could respond, Amaira glanced at her phone again—10:29 AM.

Panic shot through her like a bolt of lightning. She was going to be late. “I’m sorry, I have to go!” she blurted out, stepping back and turning on her heel. Without waiting for his response, she took off running down the street.

As she sprinted away, her mind raced just as fast. What have I done? she thought, cringing at how clumsy she had been. Of all the people to bump into, I had to ruin some poor guy’s morning.

But there was no time to dwell on it. Her focus snapped back to the task at hand—making it to the interview. She rounded another corner, the glass front of the tech company’s building finally coming into view. Her feet ached from running in heels, and her breath came in ragged gasps, but she wasn’t about to give up.

She skidded to a halt at the entrance, quickly composing herself. With a deep breath, she adjusted her blazer, smoothed her hair, and marched into the building.

Meanwhile, the man Amaira had collided with stood in front of the coffee shop, watching her retreating figure with a mix of irritation and amusement. He glanced down at the handkerchief she had pressed into his hand, still clenched between his fingers.

The coffee had soaked through his shirt, dripping down onto his slacks, but the look on her face—genuine panic, followed by profuse apologies—lingered in his mind. His frustration began to gradually going away, replaced by mild curiosity. Who rushes around like that, knocking into strangers and handing out handkerchiefs?

He unfolded the small piece of cloth, noting the embroidered initials in the corner: A.L..

He chuckled softly, pocketing the handkerchief. Maybe today wasn’t going to be as uneventful as he thought.

Back at the tech company, Amaira finally made it to the reception desk, breathless but still determined to maintain her composure. The receptionist glanced up with a practiced smile.

“Hi, I’m here for a job interview,” Amaira said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Amaira Liu.”

The receptionist clicked a few buttons on the keyboard, then nodded. “You’re scheduled for 10:30 AM with Ms. Anderson, right? You’re cutting it close.”

“I know,” Amaira replied, flashing a nervous smile. “It’s been... one of those mornings.”

The receptionist didn’t seem too fazed and simply handed her a visitor’s badge. “Take the elevator to the 12th floor. Ms. Anderson’s office is straight ahead.”

“Thank you,” Amaira said, her heart still pounding as she hurried toward the elevator.

As she rode up to the 12th floor, she mentally rehearsed her responses, trying to push aside the image of the coffee-soaked man. Focus, Amaira. Just focus on the interview.

The doors slid open with a soft ding, and she stepped out into the sleek, modern hallway of the company’s offices. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. This was it. She wasn’t going to let a spilled coffee, a late train, or anything else ruin this opportunity.

Amaira found Ms. Anderson’s office, took a moment to straighten her jacket one last time, and knocked lightly on the door. When she heard the faint “Come in,” she pushed open the door and walked in, ready to give the best interview of her life.