NOT JUST ANOTHER DAY
Chapter One
Rain pouring, trains hooting in the street of Beverly Hills.
I stood there, staring up at the tall glass building like it held the answers to every silent prayer I'd whispered in the last few weeks.
FAMRICO COSMETICS flashed boldly across the 3D advertisement board, the screen glowing through the drizzle like a promise I wasn’t sure I believed.
I adjusted my bag and stepped forward, my nerves tight and loud in my chest. Today was the interview, the one I’d rehearsed in front of my mirror, cried about at 2 a.m, and fasted for out of desperation and shaky faith.
This job wasn’t just a job. It was hope.
As I reached the door, a voice interrupted my thoughts.
"You're standing in my light."
I turned. A guy stood a few steps behind me, rain plastering his hoodie to his head. A camera rested on his chest like an extension of himself.
"Sorry," I mumbled, stepping aside.
He didn’t move for a second. Just lifted the camera. Click.
“You always stare at buildings like that?” he asked.
I blinked, caught off-guard. “Only the ones that might change my life.”
He gave a crooked smile. “Good luck, then.”
I nodded, then pushed through the glass doors without looking back.
---
The front desk was sleek and intimidating. A young woman in a gray blazer barely looked up before handing me a visitor pass.
“Fifth floor. HR.”
By the time I sat across from the two women in sharp suits, I’d rehearsed my opening line ten more times.
The interview was… fine. Maybe even good. They asked about my previous experience in product branding, my ideas on youth engagement, and how I’d handle social media crises. I spoke clearly. I smiled. I didn't shake—at least, I don’t think I did.
At the end, one of them nodded slowly. “Thank you, Miss Rina. We’ll review all applications and get back to you via email.”
That was it.
I stood, thanked them politely, and exited the room trying not to feel deflated.
---
Outside, the rain had stopped.
I reached the sidewalk, looked left, then right. He was gone. The guy with the camera.
Maybe it meant nothing.
Maybe it meant everything.
I checked my phone. No new emails.
But somehow, I knew—today had stirred something.
A shift in the quiet. A door cracked open.
And as I walked down the street, heels tapping against the wet pavement, I whispered to myself,
“This can’t be just another day.”
