Teya had always believed that luck was like the weather; unpredictable, but eventually it had to clear up. Today, she was starting to think she'd been born in a permanent storm.🌪
She stood at the bus stop, her fourth interview outfit, the only one that still looked professional, now clinging to her skin like a wet rag. The fabric, once a crisp sky blue, had turned dark and heavy with rain. Her hair, which she'd spent an hour styling that morning, hung in limp strings around her face. And her shoes. Her only pair of interview-appropriate flats squelched with every small movement, reminding her that she now had exactly two options: dry them with a hairdryer tonight or show up tomorrow looking like a drowned cat.
"I'll call you next week," they had said at the marketing firm.
"We'll keep your resume on file," they had promised at the startup.
"You're overqualified," the third had lied.
Teya hugged herself against the cold. It can't get worse than this, she thought, watching the rain pour from the edge of the bus shelter. This is rock bottom. From here, the only way is—
The black car exploded through the puddle like a shark breaching the surface.
Water; dark, gritty, reeking of oil and street grime, erupted over her in a wave. It soaked through her already-drenched clothes, plastered her hair to her scalp, and tore the cheap umbrella from her grip. It tumbled down the street, spinning uselessly until it disappeared into the gutter. 🤧
For one long moment, Teya didn't move. She stood frozen, arms at her sides, water dripping from her chin, her nose, her eyelashes. The car didn't stop. It just kept going, sleek and indifferent, as if she were nothing.
Something inside her snapped.
All the rejections, all the polite lies, all the days of going hungry to save money for bus fare, all the nights of lying awake wondering if she'd ever escape the crushing weight of her family's debt, it all surged up her throat and burned behind her eyes.
She ran.
Her ruined shoes slapped against the wet pavement as she sprinted after the car. It was slowing to turn into what looked like a private entrance, and she caught up just as it stopped. Without thinking, she threw herself in front of the headlights, her palm slamming against the sleek black hood.
"Get out!" she shouted, her voice cracking. She moved to the driver's window and pounded on the glass. "Get out right now! Do you think the road belongs to you? Do you think the rest of us are just, just target practice for your rich boy toys?" 🗣
The window rolled down. A man's face appeared; kind eyes, worried expression, hands raised in surrender. "Oh no... Miss, I'm so sorry! I didn't see the puddle, I swear. I'm really, really sorry."
Teya's chest heaved. The man looked genuinely distressed, his eyes darting from her soaked clothes to her shaking hands. She opened her mouth to accept, or at least acknowledge, his apology.
Then she saw the figure in the backseat.
He sat in perfect stillness, dressed in a suit so dark it absorbed the light. His profile was sharp, carved from marble, utterly expressionless. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at his phone, his thumb scrolling through something as if the woman drowning in rainwater two feet away was less interesting than his emails.
Something cold and furious settled in Teya's chest.
"Your friend apologized," she said, her voice loud enough to carry through the open window. "But you're the one who owns this car, aren't you? You're the one who decided speed was more important than watching where you were going." She laughed, a broken, bitter sound. "Can your money wash this dress? Can it give me back the four hours I spent preparing for interviews today? Can it—"
The man in the back finally moved. He didn't look at her. He looked at the driver.
"Lucas." His voice was ice wrapped in silk. "Enough. We're leaving. I don't have time to waste on pointless arguments." 😡
Teya's mouth fell open.
The man; Aryan, Lucas had called him earlier, still hadn't glanced in her direction. He spoke again, his words clearly meant for her, though his gaze remained fixed on his phone.
"Lucas, you don't argue with people who don't know how to stay out of the road. Drive."
The window slid up. The engine purred. And the car glided away, disappearing into the private entrance of some exclusive club Teya would never be allowed inside.
She stood alone in the rain, in the middle of a street she shouldn't have crossed, in front of a door that would never open for her. The tears came then, hot against her cold cheeks. But they weren't tears of sadness.
They were tears of fury.
She looked down at her ruined clothes, her broken spirit, her empty hands. And in her mind, she etched the image of that cold, indifferent face into permanent memory. She didn't know who he was. She didn't know his name.
But she would never forget him.
And somewhere, in the depths of her broken pride, she made a silent promise: one day, he would see her. One day, he would have to look her in the eye.
And when that day came, he would regret ever driving past her like she was nothing.😉