His Eyes Knew My Ruins

Sometimes, I ask life why it is so cruel to me. Why it has never been easy—not even once. And just when that thought threatens to swallow me whole, I force myself to believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe this is my lesson. Maybe I’m not ready yet. Maybe there’s still something left for me to learn before I get what I truly desire. But four months. Four months of job searching is not easy—especially when you’re holding an MBA degree and still standing at zero. I have shattered so many times that I’ve lost count. And the worst part? You can’t do anything about it except keep going. Keep applying. Keep smiling. Keep pretending you’re strong. It hurts the most when you see people—less qualified, less prepared—getting what you’ve been praying for. I’m not judging anyone; everyone has their own struggles. But still… if they can get it, why not me? Why am I always the exception? “Miss Sarah.” The voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I immediately stood up. I had been waiting at the reception for the last thirty minutes, ever since HR told me to wait. My palms were sweaty, my heart racing, hope clinging to me like a fragile thread. “Yes?” I said, walking toward her. She offered a polite, professional smile. The kind that already carried bad news. “I’m really sorry, but for now we are holding this position. The client informed us that the role is no longer required.” There it was. The sentence I had already rehearsed in my head. The ending I knew was coming—because I was the one giving the interview. How could it possibly go smoothly? I nodded. Smiled. Thanked her. Who was I kidding? My chest felt tight as I walked toward the elevator. My eyes burned, but I refused to cry—not here. Not in front of strangers. Inside the lift, instead of pressing G for ground floor, my finger moved on its own. R. Rooftop. The doors closed. Normally, I would call my parents. Or my best friend, Ruby. They would listen. They always do. But today, I wasn’t in the mood to explain my pain again. I didn’t want sympathy. I didn’t want encouragement. I just wanted space. The elevator chimed after the 22nd floor, and the doors slid open. Cold air hit my face as I stepped out onto the rooftop. I walked straight to the railing—not to end anything, no. I’m not that weak. Just to breathe. Just to look at the city below. People were moving. Cars honking. Lights glowing. Life continuing—without pause, without permission. Everyone seemed to have found their accelerator. And here I was, stuck in neutral. A soft breeze brushed past my face, carrying the faint smell of city. Sometimes I wonder how lucky people feel—after getting everything so easily in their life. I didn’t realize I had spoken out loud. “Motivation crisis.” The word echoed behind me—deep, husky, unapologetically calm. I froze. Slowly, I turned toward the source of the voice. And then—I forgot how to breathe. A man stood there, leaning casually against the railing, a cigarette held between his fingers like it belonged there. Like he belonged everywhere. His presence wasn’t loud, yet it filled the entire rooftop. Medium-fair complexion. Bluish-green eyes. Sharp jawline. A suit so perfectly tailored that it screamed expensive without trying. But it was his eyes that held me captive. They were deep. Too deep. Like they had seen storms and survived them without flinching. He looked at me—not with curiosity, not with judgment—but with something unreadable. And in that moment, standing 22 floors above the city, I had a strange feeling— I couldn’t explain it, but every instinct in me told me to keep my distance. To be continued… ✨