After the whole team presentation was over.They all came out of the conference room.
Olivia, Claire, and Jenna moved wordlessly toward the canteen, each carrying a stack of printouts, their laptops, and the heavy weight of Nora Hale's expectations.
The canteen was half full — clusters of interns huddled around tables, some venting about the presentation disaster, others tapping frantically at their keyboards, reworking their decks before someone like Nora could find more flaws.
Claire dropped her folder onto an empty round table near the window.
"Okay," she exhaled, rubbing her temples. "We cannot mess this up again."
Jenna sat down, already opening her laptop. "I swear my heart is still racing. Did she have to say 'baseline expectations'? Like we didn't even cross the minimum line."
Olivia remained standing for a moment, scanning the room.
Interns everywhere — some arguing quietly over design choices, others sketching diagrams on napkins, a few scrolling through marketing articles as if salvation was hidden between the paragraphs. The hum of conversation blended with the clatter of trays, the whir of a coffee machine, and the distant echo of printers working overtime.
Sunlight streamed in through the tall canteen windows, cutting across tables and casting sharp highlights on tired faces. A group near the far corner had covered their entire table with sticky notes and markers, the mess somehow inspiring.
It was chaos — but creative chaos.
And for the first time since the presentation fiasco, Olivia felt… awake.
She pulled a chair closer and sat with purpose.
"Listen," she said, leaning in. "We were shaken. Fine. But Nora gave us an opportunity — she didn't dismiss us. She asked us to redo it. That means she believes we can do better."
Claire let out a humorless laugh. "Or she thinks we need to be taught a lesson."
"Maybe," Olivia said. "But it doesn't matter. We're doing this. Properly."
Jenna looked up from her laptop. "Okay then. Game plan?"
Olivia took a deep breath, scanning the bustling canteen again — the determined faces, the frantic typing, the whispered brainstorming.
"First," she said, "we rebuild the narrative. Clear, tight, and aligned. No tangents."
Claire nodded, pulling out colored pens. "I'll handle the visual consistency. No more mismatched transitions."
Jenna clicked into their shared document. "And I'll refine the summary — short, sharp, data-backed."
Olivia smiled faintly.
"And I'll tie everything together. We move as one team this time."
As they bent over the table, ideas began flowing — smoother, clearer. Claire's marker caps clicked open. Jenna typed rapidly. Olivia scribbled a rough outline on a napkin before transferring it to her tablet.
Around them, the canteen buzzed with pressure, ambition, and the electricity of interns all fighting to prove themselves.
It wasn't comfortable.
It wasn't easy.
But in that chaotic energy, something shifted.
They were no longer three shaken interns.
They were a team rebuilding themselves — with determination sharper than Nora Hale's critiques.
And evening was approaching fast.
---
Hours passed in a blur of sharpened focus.
The canteen gradually emptied as teams drifted back to their respective bays, but Olivia, Claire, and Jenna stayed rooted at their table — rewriting, redesigning, rehearsing. Coffee cups accumulated. Sticky notes piled up. Their eyes burned, their fingers ached, but the deck finally started to look like something that belonged at Harrington Global.
By late afternoon, the sun dipped low, throwing warm amber light across their table. Claire adjusted the final slide alignment. Jenna polished the closing statement. Olivia reviewed the narrative one last time, her pulse steady with a determination she hadn't felt this strong before.
When the clock hit 5:42 PM, Olivia saved the presentation with a decisive click.
"Let's go," she said.
They walked together toward Nora Hale's office — three interns who had started the day shaken, now moving with quiet, united resolve.
Jenna knocked softly.
"Ms. Hale? We've completed the revised deck."
Nora looked up from her documents, eyes cool but attentive.
"Enter."
They stepped inside and placed the tablet on her desk. Nora reviewed the slides in silence — a silence that felt like hours.
Her gaze sharpened at a graph.
Softened at a transition.
Paused at Olivia's restructured storyline.
When she finally set the tablet down, her expression was unreadable.
"Team Gamma," she said, voice calm as glass.
"This is an improvement."
Olivia's heart lifted — just an inch.
Nora folded her hands.
"A significant improvement."
Claire and Jenna exchanged a microscopic glance.
Nora closed the folder in front of her, this time not with dismissal, but with finality.
"Approved."
The word washed over them like relief they had been holding in their lungs all day.
"You may go," Nora added. "And remember — this is the standard I expect from you, consistently."
They nodded, thanked her, and stepped out of the office — not triumphant, but steady. Grounded. Ready for whatever came next.
---
By the time the three interns exited the building, the sky outside had deepened into evening gold. They parted ways at the gate — exhausted but proud — each heading home to reclaim a small piece of themselves.
Olivia reached her apartment, a modest but warm space tucked inside an old building. She dropped her bag onto the couch, let out a long breath, and headed straight to freshen up. The warm shower rinsed off the tension clinging to her skin, leaving her feeling lighter.
She dressed in soft home clothes, tied her hair up, and moved to the small kitchen to prepare a simple meal — rice steaming, vegetables sizzling faintly. The rhythmic chopping, the smell of garlic, the quiet hum of the fan… it grounded her.
Just as she plated her dinner, a gentle knock sounded at the door.
Olivia wiped her hands and opened it.
Her landlady, Mrs. Fernandes — a sweet, silver-haired woman in a floral nightgown — stood smiling warmly.
"Ah, Olivia darling," she said, her voice soft and motherly. "I came to collect the rent. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"No, not at all," Olivia replied warmly. "Please come in."
She handed over the envelope.
Mrs. Fernandes accepted it and patted her arm affectionately.
"You look tired today," the old woman said.
"Work was tough?"
Olivia offered a small smile. "A little."
"You young people do so much," the lady sighed, shaking her head fondly. "But you're strong, Olivia. I can see it in your eyes. My daughter used to look the same on her difficult days."
The words were simple — but they struck deep.
Olivia's smile softened.
"Thank you," she whispered.
After a little more gentle chatter — about the weather, about the jasmine plant on Olivia's balcony, about how she must remember to eat properly — Mrs. Fernandes finally squeezed her hand and left.
The apartment fell quiet again.
Olivia sat down at the edge of her bed, took her phone, hesitated… and dialed a number she knew by heart.
The call rang twice.
Then a busy tone.
She tried again.
Still busy.
She stared at the screen, breath tightening, an old familiar ache blooming in her chest.
For a long moment, she just sat there — phone in her hand, silence surrounding her like a thin, fragile glass.
Finally, she placed the phone on the table, walked to the window, and looked up at the night sky.
The stars blurred.
A tear slipped down.
Then another.
The city pulsed faintly below, unaware of the quiet heartbreak tucked inside a small apartment on the fourth floor.
Olivia wrapped her arms around herself, breathing carefully, letting the tears fall — not loud, not broken — just a soft release of a weight she had carried far too long.
Tomorrow, she would rise again.
Tomorrow, she would fight again.
But tonight…
Tonight, under the quiet sky, she allowed herself to feel.