“Thank you for your interest in the position. We appreciate your application, but we have decided to move forward with other candidates.”

The words echoed in her head like a broken record. She had thought she was qualified, even overqualified, for the jobs she applied for, but clearly, the universe had other plans.

Amaira stood in front of the convenience store, the neon lights flickering like her confidence. It was a small oasis in the vast desert of rejection that had become part of her life. She pulled her jacket tighter around her as a gust of wind swept through the parking lot, and for a moment, she contemplated just turning around and going home.

"99 rejections".

Today was a new day, and she needed a reward for surviving the agonizing process of job hunting—99 times over.

With a deep breath, she stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully, a stark contrast to the heavy weight on her heart. Amaira stared at the rows of chilled beer, their glass bottles glistening with condensation. A sigh escaped her lips, long and weary.

“Just pick one,” she grumbled, finally settling on a six-pack of the cheapest beer on the bottom shelf.

She glanced up to see a familiar face behind the counter. It was the teenager who always seemed to work the late shift, leaning lazily against the register, scrolling through his phone. The clerk at the counter gave her a bored look as she shuffled up to the register with her beer.

"Rough day?" he asked, scanning the six-pack.

She shot him a look. “You could say that,” she replied, avoiding his gaze. “Just... job hunting.”

“Ah, the classic struggle. You’re not alone, you know.”

“I know. But I think I might be the queen of rejection.”

He chuckled. “Well, at least you’re consistent.”

She rolled her eyes, fishing out her wallet. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

The register beeped, and Amaira fumbled for her wallet, her mind still spinning from the countless rejection emails. She knew the drill by now: polite small talk, a generic explanation about company culture, and an apology for not being the right fit. Ninety-nine times in a row.

“Hey, isn’t this like... your second time today?” The clerk narrowed his eyes, as if suddenly realizing she looked familiar.

She blinked at him. "What?"

“You were here earlier, right? Bought some snacks or something.”

Amaira felt her face heat up. "That was my twin."

“I didn’t know you had a twin.”

“I don’t.” She threw a crumpled bill at him.

As the cashier smirked and handed her change, she grabbed the six-pack, turning on her heel. The automatic door slid open with a whoosh, and she stepped out into the night air, taking a deep breath.

Okay, Amaira, she told herself. It’s just a rough patch. People get rejected all the time, right? She walked toward her tiny apartment, beer dangling from her hand.

But 99 rejections? Was she cursed?

Right then, as if on cue, the universe answered. She stepped on something squishy.

"Ugh, what the—" She looked down and saw the worst possible sight—a discarded piece of chewing gum sticking to her brand-new heels.

Of course, the universe wasn’t done humiliating her yet. Suddenly, she heard a familiar voice call out,

“Hey, need some help?”

Startled, she turned around. There he was. A man walking out of the convenience store, holding a carton of milk and wearing a slight smirk.

He was tall, effortlessly good-looking in that "I-just-rolled-out-of-bed" way, with messy hair and the kind of confidence that irked her on sight. Max.

Her high school friend and her current next door neighbor, standing a few feet away.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, feeling defensive.

“Just grabbing some essentials. You know how it is,” he replied, casually tilting his head toward the store.

“Looks like you’re on a mission yourself.” She glared at him, frustrated.

"Don’t tempt me. I've had the worst day, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Bad interview?"

Amaira froze, her jaw clenching. "How did you—"

He pointed at her heels. "Those are ‘I’m trying too hard’ interview shoes. And judging by the six-pack, it didn’t go well."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Well, aren't you observant." “I’m just trying to get through the day, Max,” she shot back, her irritation flaring.

“What do you want?”

“Relax, I’m not here to fight. Just making an observation.” He chuckled, eyeing the six-pack in her hand. “Planning a party?”

“More like a pity party,” she said, feeling the corners of her mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. “I just hit my 99th job rejection.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighed, her bravado slipping. “At this point, I might as well retire my résumé and start a new career as a professional reject.”

“Why not just embrace it?” he suggested, surprising her. “You could do a social media series or something—‘The Rejected Applicant.’”

“Very funny,” she replied, crossing her arms.

“Look, I’m just saying... if you want a beer buddy, I live next door. I’ve got some pizza too, if that helps.” He gestured to a building not far from where she stood.

Amaira blinked. She was definitely not in the mood for company, but the combination of pizza, beer, and someone who know her to talk about her career failures was oddly tempting.

She gave him a skeptical look. "You inviting a women over to your place for beer and pizza?”

He grinned. “”That’s for women, not you. You are my buddy who needs a break from job rejections.”

For a second, she considered telling him off, brushing him aside like the universe had done to her. But then she remembered the 99 rejection emails sitting in her inbox, and thought—why not? What’s the worst that could happen?

"Alright, beer buddy," she said, standing up and taking a step toward him. "Lead the way."

Max grab the beer carton from Amaira hand while walk towards their apartment