Samantha Li hit “send” before she could change her mind. The email blinked away into cyberspace, taking her two-week notice and the last of her self-restraint with it. For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the empty inbox, waiting for regret to crash in. It didn’t. Instead, there was an odd, quiet satisfaction—like exhaling after holding her breath for too long.  

Her office cubicle looked smaller than it did yesterday. The mug she’d stolen from the breakroom said *I Survived Another Meeting That Should Have Been an Email.* It hadn’t survived much at all. She packed it into her bag, along with a half-dead succulent, her planner, and a handful of candy she didn’t remember buying.  

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Most of the office was still dark, the only sound the soft whir of the building’s air system pretending to be alive. 6:17 a.m. She was early—too early to quit dramatically, too late to be rescued by common sense.  

By the time she reached the lobby, the silence had already started to feel heavy. The security guard looked up from his phone, surprised to see her leaving with a box. “Early start?” he asked.  

“Early ending,” she said, offering a small smile.  

Outside, Luminara City was still half-asleep, the sky tinted a faded blue that couldn’t decide if it was morning yet. The air smelled like rain and yesterday’s coffee. Her heels clicked on the wet pavement as she walked toward the bus stop, trying not to think about the fact that she didn’t actually have anywhere to go.  

Freedom, she decided, was overrated before breakfast.  

Her phone buzzed. A notification from her bank. She didn’t open it. Denial was cheaper than therapy.  

When she reached the corner, a man in a hoodie was feeding crumbs to pigeons. One of them landed near her foot, fearless and plump. “You get paid more than I did,” she muttered, stepping around it.  

The bakery across the street flipped its sign from CLOSED to OPEN, releasing a wave of warm, buttery air. Her stomach growled in betrayal. She glanced at her watch, sighed, and crossed. The cashier, a girl with purple hair and tired eyes, handed her a croissant and called her “hon.” It was the nicest thing anyone had said to her all week.  

She took her pastry to the nearest bench, brushed off the rain, and tried to make sense of her to-do list. “Find new job,” she read aloud. “Find will to live.” She paused, scribbled in another line: “Buy better coffee.”  

Her phone buzzed again—this time a text.  

**Gideon:** *You did it?*  

**Samantha:** *Yeah. I quit. Finally.*  

**Gideon:** *Proud of you. Terrified for you, but proud.*  

**Samantha:** *Same.*  

She smiled faintly and bit into her croissant. It was still warm, flaky, unapologetically buttery—the exact opposite of her last job. The thought almost made her laugh.  

Traffic picked up. A bus hissed to a stop beside her, releasing a cloud of steam. People were starting their day while she had just ended hers. It was strange, that overlap between everyone else’s beginning and her uncertain pause.  

By eight-thirty, the city had stretched fully awake. She walked without direction, letting the rhythm of crosswalks and streetlights decide for her. Somewhere between the bookstore and the flower stall, her phone rang—an unknown number.  

“Hello?”  

“Hi, is this Samantha Li?” The voice was low, calm, with that steady confidence people either earn or fake very well.  

“Depends who’s asking.”  

“This is Nathan Reed. I got your number from Miles Harper. He mentioned you might be open to freelance coordination work.”  

Her brain struggled to connect the dots. Miles. Right—her ex-coworker, now at some tech startup. “Oh. Yeah, I might be. Why?”  

“I’m building a new division,” he said. “Short-term contract to start. Flexible hours. You’d basically be keeping us from imploding.”  

“Sounds noble.”  

“More like survival. Can you come by tomorrow morning? Just a quick chat.”  

She hesitated, glancing at the pastry bag still in her hand. “You caught me between career crises, so… sure. Why not?”  

Nathan chuckled softly. “Perfect timing, then.”  

The call ended before she could decide whether that was fate or just good LinkedIn networking.  

She pocketed her phone, half-smiling at the absurdity. Less than three hours unemployed, and she’d already been recruited by a stranger with a nice voice. Her mother would call that divine intervention. Samantha called it *suspiciously convenient.*  

The rest of the day passed in a blur of errands and overthinking. She bought a new notebook—the kind that made promises it couldn’t keep—and groceries she couldn’t afford. Back in her apartment, she opened the blinds just enough to let the light in but not the view. The city below shimmered in late afternoon gold, making everything look more cinematic than it felt.  

Her apartment wasn’t much: a one-bedroom with thin walls and a heater that had opinions. But it was hers. She sat at the kitchen counter with a mug of instant coffee, scrolling through job listings she didn’t believe in. For a brief moment, she thought about calling her mom, then decided against it. There was only so many times she could say “I’m fine” before it lost its meaning.  

She opened her new notebook and wrote two words: *Start again.* Then crossed them out and wrote: *Don’t panic.*  

Her phone vibrated again—another text, this one from Miles.  

**Miles:** *Told Nathan about you. Be nice. He’s brilliant but allergic to emotions.*  

**Samantha:** *Great. My specialty.*  

She laughed, nearly spilling her coffee. Maybe the universe had a sense of humor after all.  

That night, she couldn’t sleep. The thought of meeting someone named Nathan Reed sounded both promising and exhausting. Her mind kept replaying the phone call—the easy confidence in his voice, the way he’d said “perfect timing” like it meant something. She told herself it didn’t. But she caught herself smiling anyway.  

Morning came too soon. The alarm went off at 6:00, cruel and decisive. Samantha rolled out of bed, brushed her hair into something resembling order, and gave herself a pep talk in the mirror. “You’re competent, charming, and moderately sane,” she said. “Mostly.”  

By 9:20, she was standing in front of Luminara Tower, the kind of glass building that reflected both sunlight and insecurities. She checked her reflection in the revolving door—presentable enough—and headed in.  

The lobby was a maze of marble and confidence. The receptionist smiled with the efficiency of someone paid to look calm. “Mr. Reed will see you in a few minutes,” she said.  

Samantha nodded, trying not to look like someone who’d eaten a croissant for dinner last night.  

When the elevator doors opened, her reflection in the mirrored walls seemed steadier than she felt. The ride was silent, except for the hum of nerves in her chest. Thirty-second floor. She stepped out before she could reconsider.  

Nathan was by the window when she entered, tall, composed, in a dark gray suit that probably had opinions about success. He turned at the sound of her heels.  

“Ms. Li,” he said with a nod.  

“Mr. Reed,” she replied, equally formal, equally nervous.  

“Thanks for coming on short notice.”  

“Thanks for offering to pay me,” she said before she could stop herself.  

He blinked, then smiled—a quick, surprised curve of the mouth. “Fair enough.”  

They talked. About schedules, deadlines, impossible clients, and the absurdity of corporate language. At one point, she compared project management to her ex-boyfriend—“unpredictable, occasionally rewarding, mostly stressful”—and he laughed, genuinely.  

By the time the meeting ended, the air between them had shifted. Not romantic, not yet—but lighter. Easier.  

As she stood to leave, Nathan said, “We’ll be in touch soon.”  

She nodded, adjusting her bag. “Looking forward to imploding your company in style.”  

He laughed again. “I’ll make sure there’s coffee.”  

Outside, the city gleamed under late morning light, the sky clear and forgiving. Samantha stopped on the sidewalk, watching her reflection shimmer faintly in the glass tower behind her. Somewhere high above, Nathan was probably already on another call.  

She smiled to herself, unsure if she’d just made a mistake or stumbled into the start of something that might actually matter. Then she turned toward the corner café, where a new *Help Wanted* sign hung in the window.  

She pushed the door open, the scent of espresso rushing out to meet her. “Maybe just one more croissant,” she murmured, and laughed under her breath.  

Outside, the city kept moving, bright and unapologetic, as if it already knew the two of them were bound to cross paths again.