Thursday evening, José stopped by his apartment in the company building in Diegem, picked up a few things in a small bag, and sat down with Anna and Beatriz for a short chat. Around 9:00 PM, he left to drive toward the capital. The conversation with Anna and Beatriz was pleasant and comforting. They all laughed at Beatriz’s jokes and stories from when she first visited Belgium, but also discussed more serious matters, like how Beatriz’s mother had passed away four months ago. Anna knew, but José didn’t. Anna was the type of person who would only share her friends’ personal matters if they told her to. She considered it a very personal issue for Beatriz and hadn’t mentioned it to José. José had known this for years, but for some reason, it bothered him now, even though he showed no sign of it.

José arrived in the city center quicker than expected, considering the usual traffic in Brussels, and parked his car in the garage of The Hotel Brussels, near the Louise metro station and the giant Ferris wheel in Polaert, an attraction he had ridden once when he first came to the city with Anna.

The Hotel Brussels was a 27-floor hotel located in the heart of Brussels. It was only about a 4-minute walk from the busy Louise metro and tram station, tucked between high-end stores like Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Tiffany & Co. However, one could hardly say the hotel was hidden among anything, given its towering size. It was just 15 minutes on foot from the Grand Place, surrounded by plenty of shops and restaurants. To José’s surprise, the hotel also housed its own restaurant, a wellness center, a sauna, and a lounge with panoramic views. Given the price José paid, no one would expect anything less, but he hadn’t really researched the hotel much. He had just chosen the first option that came up on a popular booking site based in the Netherlands, without caring about the price or the amenities, except for the parking, which was important in the city.

As he fumbled with the GPS to find the entrance, he regretted spending his money so recklessly.

That Thursday night, with the wind blowing and a few raindrops splashing his face, José finally figured out that the entrance was through a huge revolving door, like the ones in some supermarkets.

Inside the lobby, everything was dark, except for a few orange lamps illuminating the backs of two men at the reception desk with white counters. The bald man on the right was dealing with an annoyed customer who was asking for his suitcase. The other man, darker-skinned with slightly almond-shaped eyes, was free.

José headed toward him, the small bag over his shoulder.

“Good evening,” the man greeted him in French.

“Good evening,” José responded in French as well. But his knowledge of French didn’t go beyond that. “I have a reservation for a few nights,” he said in English.

“Oh,” the man replied. “Welcome to The Hotel,” he switched to English. “Can I have your name please?”

José felt exhausted. He sighed and checked his phone. It was already past 11:00. “Yes, of course. José Fidalgo. Do you need my ID?”

“Yes, please, if it’s convenient.”

José pulled out his wallet and handed his ID to the suited man. The man murmured a grateful "thank you," then started typing on a white keyboard with a white screen in front of him.

One minute felt like an eternity for José, who was struggling with exhaustion. A couple of older people, a man and a stylish woman in a beige trench coat with a small black suitcase, waited behind him.

“The breakfast is from 6:30 to 10:00 on weekdays, and from 7:00 to 11:00 on weekends,” the man placed a white card inside a holder connected to the computer. “You also have access to the lounge and wellness center. The lounge is open from 7:00 AM to 8:00 PM on the 24th floor, and the wellness center is open from 6:30 AM to 10:30 PM on the 23rd floor,” he added in one breath, as if eager to finish quickly. There were others waiting. The bald man at the other counter was still arguing with the customer in a gray T-shirt and a full brown beard about the suitcase.

“The elevator is on your left. Here’s your key card. You’re on the 13th floor,” the man handed José a white small envelope.

José took it, looked at the card in his hand. “The third floor?”

“The thirteenth,” the man repeated.

José stared at the card again and then realized that the line before the number three was actually the number one.

“Okay. Thank you,” he gave the man a slight smile and walked left.

To his left were a few sofas and sparse tables, like a small lobby filled with well-dressed individuals. One man was literally asleep while sitting upright in an armchair.

With the dim lighting, José found the six elevators and pressed the button for one. The elevator arrived quickly, interrupted by the loud and unpleasant laughter of a man and woman from the lobby.

José frowned and entered the elevator with a woman wearing a short white bob and a white dress. He pressed the number 13.

The elevator stayed put.

He pressed it again.

Nothing.

He looked at a small black label above the buttons.

“TO ACCESS GUEST FLOORS, PLEASE ACTIVATE THE ELEVATOR BY HOLDING YOUR CARD IN FRONT OF THE SENSOR, THEN SELECT YOUR FLOOR.”

He sighed and placed his card in front of the black box next to the sign.

Beep.

He pressed the number 13 again.

This time, the doors closed, but before they could fully close, they opened again on the 13th floor. This elevator was like a whirlwind.

José felt a migraine coming on, as he exited. He walked to the left and looked at the numbers on the gray wall. The hallway was eerily quiet. Maybe that was the only thing that made the money worth it. Anyway, José wasn’t one for spas and knew he wouldn’t use it. He’d probably miss breakfast on Friday too. He had to be at work by 6:00 AM. In fact, he had to start work at 6:00, so he would eat breakfast at 5:00 AM.

He passed several dark brown doors until he reached the end of the hall on his left. He stopped in front of the door and checked the number.

1305.

He held his card in front of the sensor, and the door opened with a beep.

José stepped inside. The room was far more upscale than he’d imagined. Above his head, an air conditioner was built into the ceiling, making a lot of noise as it blew air.

He took off his shoes and, with the night lights shining through the windows, he eventually found the panel with the lights and blinds next to the bed. He turned on the entryway lights.

To the left of the door was a full-length mirror, and to the right was a large sink with a separate toilet and shower. The shower had both an overhead showerhead and a phone shower. A small towel lay folded on the floor of the half-open glass shower door, and a white towel hung on a hook outside the glass. Under the sink, on the dark brown shelf, there were more white towels.

Across from him was a double bed with three pillows on each side. Next to each side were two round, modern nightstands with reading lamps attached to the wall. Further from the bed, on the opposite side, was an oval glass table and a large beige sofa with cushions. Above the sofa, the huge windows showcased the magnificent city lights of Brussels at night.

A bit farther from the foot of the bed was a built-in television on the wall, and a simple desk with a small desk lamp. Next to it stood a white wardrobe for storing clothes.

José threw his bag on the floor near a black wardrobe and the bed. He then moved toward the large window and looked outside. From there, he could see the traffic on the street, cars coming and going, and the lights of the Finance Tower.

He sighed and walked toward the sink. He turned on the tap and washed his hands with soap.

He felt drained.

Friday passed relatively quickly again. They had to install the APU in place on the other aircraft they had from the same company, which took up quite a bit of time. Apart from the essentials and work-related matters, José didn’t speak much with anyone other than his supervisors, and he also didn’t see Carlos at all. He heard from someone that at one point, Carlos was cranking* the engine on the first aircraft they had.

That Friday evening, José didn’t stop by his apartment. He went straight to the hotel instead. Anna hadn’t sent him a message. He saw from her stories that she was out having dinner with Beatriz.

When he got to his room, he threw his things down and decided to sit in the lobby for a while. He didn’t have anything special to do, and it felt like he had nothing to do and nothing he wanted to do. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The elevator arrived at ground level, and the doors opened. José walked toward the small lobby. Most of the couches were occupied. He found a beige sofa in the corner and sat down. He took out his phone and connected to the Wi-Fi. A notification popped up on his screen.

LinkedIn: LOOKING FOR NEW OPPORTUNITIES?

José clicked on the message and read it. It was a job offer for a position in Malta. He ignored it and went back to his home screen. Maybe he would look at it later.

He scrolled through his LinkedIn feed, where almost all of his connections were posting about starting new jobs or sharing videos with information about the lives of aircraft engineers. Occasionally, a recruiter’s photo would pop up, asking for applicants.

Carlos Silva liked this post.

José’s finger hovered over Carlos's name and his small round profile picture. It trembled.

Eventually, he clicked on it. Carlos's profile and face appeared on the screen.

José quickly pressed the button and locked the screen. He rubbed his face and eyes with his left hand, resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa.

Whispers reached his ears.

For some reason, the lobby, with its elaborate displays of pink suits, shoes, and jewelry, had filled with fancy-looking people. José, for some reason, felt embarrassed. Maybe it was because he wasn’t wearing a suit like the others, just a black hoodie and dark blue sweatpants. Maybe it was because he didn’t speak French. Maybe it was because his mere presence on a sofa made him feel like they didn’t think he belonged there. Or maybe it was because they probably earned more than him while doing less work.

José calmly got up and walked back toward the elevators. What had gotten into him today?

He went up to his floor and walked toward his room. The silence in the hallway calmed him. The quiet, along with the view from his room, reassured him.

He closed the door behind him and leaned his back against it.

He exhaled deeply.

He unlocked his phone. The image and profile of Carlos appeared again.

He exited LinkedIn and opened WhatsApp. He started a new conversation and typed Carlos’s name as the recipient.

“I’m in Brussels, downtown at the The Hotel. If you don’t have anything to do today, come hang out. Room 1305.”

He pressed send.

Then, he walked over, threw his phone on the bed, and opened the black wardrobe, which contained a small black fridge. He pulled out a Stella Artois from inside.

He opened it.

*Cranking : Refers to Engine Cranking. The CRANK setting is used predominantly by maintenance personnel for performing various engine tests and for troubleshooting purposes.When this mode is selected, fuel can not be introduced to the engines. The engine ignitors are deactivated and the fuel control unit is in the shut off position. The purpose of this is to remove potential leftover engine vapors by airing/ventilating the engine.