Chapter 3: Shattered Promises
738 Words
The moment the plane touched down in Russia, a strange wave of emotions swept over me. Cold air pressed against the windows, and I watched the snowy landscape stretch out like a page from someone else’s story. This was it. Moscow. My new beginning—or so I thought.
As I stepped off the plane, the frigid air hit me like a wall. It bit into my skin, seeped through my clothes, and made my breath hitch in my throat. People hurried past, wrapped tightly in coats and scarves, their voices echoing in sharp, familiar syllables.
Russian.
The language didn’t frighten me—it was a comfort. My mother was Russian. I grew up listening to her soft voice speaking it fluently, her lullabies woven in delicate phrases. She had taught me enough to be able to speak it myself, clearly and confidently. It gave me a small sense of power in a world where I felt like I had none.
I handed the taxi driver the address to a cheap motel I'd booked in advance, and when he asked a question in Russian, I responded without hesitation. He looked surprised, then nodded.
We drove in silence through the gray, snow-blanketed streets of Moscow. The city looked like something from a faded photograph—stunning, cold, distant.
The motel was old, its walls cracked and paint peeling. My room was barely warm, with a hard bed and a single light that buzzed overhead. But at least it was a roof over my head. I laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if I’d made a mistake.
For the next two days, I did little else but prepare for the interview. I practiced responses, reviewed the company’s name, repeated hopeful phrases to myself in Russian and English. I reminded myself why I came: for something better.
The morning of the interview, I got up early. I dressed carefully, trying to look professional even though most of my clothes were still wrinkled from travel. I told myself, This is your chance. Don’t waste it.
Navigating the city wasn’t easy, but I managed. The snow was heavier now, and the cold pierced through even my thickest sweater. But I found the building—tall, sleek, modern. It looked like the kind of place where dreams could happen.
Inside the lobby, I stepped up to the front desk.
“Здравствуйте,” I said with a hopeful smile.
, меня зовут АдираднaO
Здравствуйте, у меня сегодня здесь собеседование — “” (Hello. My name is Adiratna I have an interview today.)
The receptionist typed something into her computer. Her polite smile faltered. “Извините... Вашего имени нет в списке.” (I’m sorry... your name isn’t on the list.)
My heart dropped. “Что? Я получила письмо с подтверждением.” (What? I received a confirmation email.)
She examined my phone screen carefully. Then she sighed. “Это не наш домен. Боюсь, вас обманули.” (That’s not our domain. I’m afraid you’ve been scammed.)
Her words were like a slap to my chest.
I stared at the screen. The email looked real. The logo. The formatting. Everything. I had built my entire escape around it. I had left my father, left everything I knew—believing this would be the beginning of something better.
But it was a lie.
I mumbled a thank you and walked out of the building on numb legs. Snow was falling thick now, landing on my coat and hair like cold reminders of my stupidity.
I found a bench nearby and sat down, not caring that it was covered in snow. I couldn’t feel the cold anymore.
For a long time, I just sat there, frozen. My eyes stared blankly ahead, but inside, I was unraveling.
Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t wipe them away. I let them fall.
I had nothing. No job. No contacts. No future.
And worst of all—no strength left.
Everything I had done, all the sacrifices I made, the pain I endured, the goodbye I whispered to my father… all of it led to this.
I wrapped my arms around myself, not for warmth, but because I didn’t know what else to do.
I didn’t feel brave. I didn’t feel strong.
I felt like a fool.
Alone, in a foreign country, surrounded by snow and strangers—this didn’t feel like a new beginning.
It felt like the end.
- Writer
