A soft instrumental melody stirred the morning into motion.

Gentle piano chords, set as her wake-up alarm, filled the stillness of the room—familiar, slow, unintrusive. Aria shifted under the covers, eyes fluttering open to filtered light pouring through pale curtains.

The song looped once before she reached out, silencing it with a quiet tap.

It was her second morning in the apartment. The first one she’d slept through entirely—bone-tired from travel and only half-unpacked. This one arrived with softer edges—a little more real, though still dusted with the unfamiliar.

Her bedroom held a lived-in stillness, despite how little of her life had yet been unpacked into it. A half-open suitcase rested near the wardrobe. A stack of books waited on the floor next to her bed, spine-up.

She sat up, brushing a hand through her hair. The sheets were clean but slightly crumpled from the night before—too much tossing, too many thoughts. First days always had that particular brand of weight: not heavy, just sharp-edged.

The floor was cool under her feet as she padded out of her room. A single shaft of light cut across the wooden floorboards of the living room, painting golden lines on the armrest of the small beige sofa. Dust motes floated, visible and slow. Boxes remained unopened. She’d finish later. Maybe.

In the kitchen, the air smelled faintly of old wood, box tape, and the lemon dish soap Maya had insisted on buying “for the aesthetic.”

The fridge greeted her with a fluorescent hum—and a bright yellow post-it stuck to the corner.

Milk’s in the wrong place, sorry. Welcome back <3 —Maya

Aria smiled, warming a little at the messy scrawl. She tucked the note into the corner of a cabinet door and began preparing breakfast.

Toasted multigrain bread, a smear of avocado, a little black salt, and lemon. Sliced apple on the side. She brewed a cup of tea, the smell curling into the corners of the apartment, settling over the half-unpacked shelves and boxes like a blanket.

The guest room remained untouched for now, waiting for her parents when they came to visit. It was a quiet comfort, knowing that part of her world had a place here too.

She ate by the tall window in the living room, cross-legged on the sofa with a napkin tucked beside her knee. The building across the street wore balconies lined with plants and striped laundry. Everything here moved a little slower in the morning.

Her thoughts, however, kept pace.

There was a time she’d double-check every choice, every word, every step. But mornings like this—quiet, composed—felt less like a performance now, and more like herself.

She finished eating and glanced at the clock. 7:14.

Back in her room, she dressed with care. A black skirt that skimmed just below the knee, a sleeveless turtleneck in olive, and a tan linen blazer. Her low-heeled mules already waited by the door. She fastened her wristwatch, added simple pearl earrings, and slid on a thin ring on her right hand—gifted by her mother, meant to remind her of steadiness.

She looked at herself in the tall mirror Maya had helped her wedge against the bedroom wall. The corners of her mouth tilted up just a little. Not out of pride—more like recognition.

Something about her reflection still looked like a work-in-progress—but steadier than before. She didn’t know exactly when it had shifted, but she carried herself differently now.

In the living room, her bag sat ready by the door. She packed her lunchbox carefully: rice with stir-fry tofu and vegetables she’d made last night, a small container of grapes, one folded paper napkin, and a thermos of water. A pen slipped in beside her wallet. Her university badge, still clinging to the bottom of her bag, was now joined by her internship ID.

Just as she zipped it shut, her phone buzzed.

First, a message from Ma.

Good morning, Aru. First day—make it a good one. Eat properly, okay? Let me know how it goes.

Aria typed back quickly, thumb moving with instinctive care:

I'm leaving for my first day of work. Wish me luck.

A second notification blinked in almost immediately after. This one less expected, though not unwelcome.

Reyhaan.

Don’t trip over your own thoughts today. Or your heels. Or both.

Then another:

You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.

A third, as if he’d paused before hitting send:

P.S. Someone will definitely try to steal your lunch. I hope they appreciate the effort. I know I would.

She huffed a quiet laugh through her nose, then typed back:

I make no promises about the lunch. But I’ll try with the heels. Thanks. :)

After a second’s thought, she added:

Wish me luck back?

She tucked the phone into her bag, slipped on her shoes, and checked the door lock twice before stepping outside.

The corridor still smelled faintly of fresh paint and dust. But the morning air through the stairwell windows was bright and clean.

Downstairs, the city was beginning to stir—trams humming in the distance, footsteps echoing off sidewalks, someone’s music playing faintly from an open window.

Aria paused at the corner, one hand resting lightly on the strap of her bag. The apartment behind her didn’t feel like home yet—but it had corners she was beginning to know.

And the day ahead didn’t promise certainty.

But it was hers to shape.

Aria checked the directions to Vireo House again, even though she had already memorized them.

The building stood on a lively Rotterdam street lined with tram cables and tulip stalls, its facade a blend of sharp glass and old Dutch brickwork. The production house occupied two levels of the structure—glass-walled offices above, creative corners and edit suites below.

Inside, the staircase curved gently past wide-paneled windows. Light spilled across a series of framed stills from past projects—grainy forest paths, a flooded kitchen, two dancers in silhouette.

Aria's gaze caught on a poster titled Where the Earth Bends, its muted letters tilting like a thought held too long. She didn’t know the film, but something about it made her feel the way she did when waking from a dream she couldn’t quite name.

Her footsteps quieted as she reached the second floor. The Vireo House logo glowed softly on the wall just before the automatic door slid open into a hallway. The reception area was bright and efficient. A ceramic mug tree clinked gently near the coffee station. Another automatic door connected the lobby to the main office area.

“Hi,” Aria greeted the woman at the desk, “I’m Aria. It’s my first day as an editorial intern.”

“Oh, yes! Welcome,” said the receptionist cheerfully. “You’re with Team Lina. Scan your ID and step inside. Take the first left. They’re just settling in for their morning check-in.”

Aria nodded. She tucked her palms into her coat pockets, steadying her breath. First day. Just observe. You don’t have to prove anything today. Just listen.

The door opened to high-ceilinged open workspaces arranged in pods. Pinned-up stills, scribbled shot lists, and empty coffee mugs gave it the comfortable clutter of a place always mid-process.

“Aria, right?” A woman in her mid-thirties turned from the whiteboard, warm smile intact. Her short curls were pinned to one side, and her wire-frame glasses sat a little crooked. “I’m Lina—editor and your not-so-scary supervisor. Welcome.”

Aria smiled, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Thank you. It’s nice to finally be here.”

“Come on. I’ll show you your corner.”

Her spot was by the window, a desk already set up with dual screens, sticky notes, and an empty mug that read Frame it till you make it. She was introduced to the rest of her team soon after.

Chiara, an animation and color-grading specialist, with green-tipped hair and chunky rings, who offered Aria a gummy bear by way of greeting.

Dev, soft-spoken and meticulous, archive specialist, eyes always scanning two screens at once.

Jasper, who seemed to orbit between departments with a lopsided grin and a rotating set of obscure band t-shirts.

“We’re mid-edit on Stages of Dust—a short documentary on post-lockdown theatre spaces,” Lina explained. “We’ve got two weeks before the final export. You’ll assist with subtitling, metadata entry, and light dialogue copy-editing. Sound okay?”

Aria nodded. “Yes. Happy to start wherever I’m needed.”

Lina walked her through the platform, and Aria absorbed everything, committing the flow to memory with quiet focus. Editing timelines, folder hierarchies, and color codes for voiceover markers. Her notebook filled with quick sketches of icons, tags, and reminders.

Chiara leaned over at one point and added, “Don’t be afraid to ask weird questions. That’s how you survive Jasper.”

“Or become him,” Dev murmured.

Jasper smirked. “It’s all part of my legacy plan.”

Aria laughed softly and settled into her chair, adjusting her headphones. The screen lit up with the project timeline, and she began to read the first sequence—subtitles in two languages, waveforms pulsing faintly beneath a spoken monologue about empty black boxes and echoing lights.

During their mid-morning break, Jasper offered her a cup of espresso with mock ceremony.

“To the new kid. Here’s your caffeine rite of passage.”

“Thanks.” She accepted it with a quiet smile—grateful not just for the heat, but for the small kindness threaded through ritual.

“You used to work with footage, too, right?” Chiara asked. “What was it—student film, freelance?”

“Mostly student stuff,” Aria replied. “Collaborative projects, sound edits, a couple of campus screenings. I’ve helped organize scripts and subtitling before, just… on a smaller scale.”

“Hey, that’s where all of us started,” Lina smiled. “The goal here isn’t perfection—it’s clarity, and curiosity.”

Aria smiled faintly. A relief, and yet—the word clung anyway.

The room hummed with keystrokes, espresso puffs, and the occasional burst of laughter from down the hall. Aria’s fingers hovered for a moment above the keyboard, adjusting her headphone wire, before diving back in.

By afternoon, she'd grown used to the hum of the team. Jasper tossed her a granola bar with a wink. Chiara argued with the color palette. Dev politely explained how to name archive files with terrifying precision. And Aria? She soaked it all in—quiet, alert, careful.

She liked it. The quiet momentum. The learning. The sense that things fit—not easily, but honestly.

That evening, as she sat cross-legged on her living room rug, she messaged her mother:

Hi Ma. First day went well. Everyone’s nice. I’m mostly observing and trying not to mess anything up. Will call this weekend. Hope Papa’s back pain’s better. Love you.

She followed it with a photo of her dinner—pasta with olives and sautéed mushrooms. Then switched to her group chat.

MAYA: So? First day? Give us everything.

ARIA: Vireo House is beautiful. Everyone’s a little chaotic but smart. I like them. I did subtitles and archive tagging. Got teased by an editor named Jasper. Chiara and Lina run the show like secret superheroes.

REYHAAN: They sound exactly like people who would survive in a submarine or start a pirate radio.

KIAN: Or run a theatre cult. (also: congrats!)

ARIA: Haha. You’re not wrong.

MAYA: You’re gonna fit right in, Ar. Proud of you. (Also ask them what their coffee situation is. For science.)

ARIA: Noted. Will investigate tomorrow.

She smiled, turned off the screen, and let herself exhale. One day down. A small beginning, yes. But something in her chest—quiet and certain—told her she’d found a rhythm worth learning.