The morning was restless. Elira sat at her desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, but the blinking cursor mocked her with every second that passed. The job board glared back in a language that still tangled in her head. Half the listings blurred together, all requiring something she didn't have — local contacts, certificates she couldn't translate, experience that didn't sound like hers no matter how she worded it.
A knock came, sharp and steady. She opened the door to find Caelum, a notebook tucked under his arm, his grin boyish despite the drizzle clinging to his hair.
"Today," he said simply. "We try."
She blinked at him. "Try…?"
He raised the notebook. "Applications. You're not getting away from me until we send at least one."
Despite herself, Elira laughed softly and let him in. He pulled up a chair beside her and flipped the notebook open, the neat columns from yesterday staring back at her. "We'll start small. This one." He pointed to a listing circled twice.
"I don't know how to—"
"That's why I'm here." His voice was light, but his eyes were steady.
For the next hour, the room filled with the sound of keys clacking, the paper rustling beneath Caelum's fingers, the quiet huff of Elira's sighs. He guided her through phrasing, helped her simplify where she stumbled. When she froze at a question about experience, he leaned closer.
"You taught me how to explain myself in English," he reminded her gently. "That counts more than you think."
They finished two applications. The third was messy, with formatting issues that nearly drove Elira to slam the laptop shut, but Caelum only chuckled and adjusted the margins himself.
"There," he said, sending it off with a triumphant click. "Three tries. That's three more than yesterday."
Elira leaned back, drained but faintly lighter. "It feels like nothing."
"It feels like starting," Caelum corrected.
By midday, they were standing in front of a small office on a side street. The listing had looked promising — admin work, part-time, nothing too complicated. But inside, the manager's polite smile turned cool when Elira admitted she had no local language certificates. He skimmed her papers, shook his head with a murmured apology, and dismissed her kindly but firmly.
Back outside, Elira's throat felt tight. "I told you," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. "It's useless."
Caelum fell into step beside her, quiet. For a few streets, they walked in silence, rain puddles splashing underfoot. Just when she thought he might let her spiral into frustration, he touched her elbow lightly and steered her into a narrow lane lined with stalls.
"What are you—"
"Lunch," he said, with a grin that didn't ask permission.
The air here smelled of broth and ginger, sharp and comforting at once. A tiny shop leaned into the corner, its wooden sign faded, its stools mismatched. Steam curled from pots behind the counter, carrying the sound of ladles clinking and the chatter of two old men bent over their bowls.
Caelum led her in as though he owned the place. "Best noodles in this part of the city. I've been coming here since a long time." He slid onto a stool and waved for two bowls without even looking at the menu.
Elira sat hesitantly beside him. "You didn't even ask me what I wanted."
"Trust me," he said with mock seriousness. "When it comes to noodles, I know exactly what you want."
She rolled her eyes but felt the corner of her mouth twitch.
When the bowls arrived, steam rose in fragrant curls, clouding the space between them. Elira picked up the chopsticks carefully, trying to mimic Caelum's grip. Her first attempt sent noodles slipping back into the broth with a splash.
Caelum smothered a laugh. "You'll get it. Here." He demonstrated, patient as ever.
They ate in companionable silence for a while, the warmth of the broth chasing away the damp chill that had settled into her bones.
Elira set her chopsticks down halfway, staring into the swirl of noodles. "What if it's always like today? Doors closing. People smiling, but saying no. What if I never…" She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Caelum leaned back, studying her with a seriousness that softened his features. "Then you try again tomorrow. And the next day. Until one of those doors opens."
She gave him a weary look. "It's not that simple."
"It is," he said firmly. "Not easy. But simple. The first no doesn't erase the effort. It just makes the yes closer."
His conviction startled her. She wasn't sure if she believed him, but the way he said it made her want to.
They finished the meal slowly. Caelum paid at the counter with a familiar ease, exchanging a few words with the vendor, who clapped him on the shoulder like an old friend.
As they stepped back into the drizzle, Elira felt her disappointment lingering, but softer now. Wrapped in the memory of steam, broth, and Caelum's steady voice, the day didn't feel like a failure anymore.
When they reached her door, he gave a small smile. "Tomorrow, we try again."
Elira nodded. For the first time that day, she didn't immediately doubt herself.
Inside, she eyed Caelum's folded schedule onto her desk, next to the faint scent of ginger clinging to her scarf.
Maybe that would be enough to keep her going for now.