Talia Brooks a 25-year-old lady, 5'5" tall, with smooth, warm brown skin —like cinnamon stirred into honey – glowing gently into harsh city lights. She had wide, dark almond-shaped eyes. Naturally long and curled eye lashes looking like she just blinked through a dream.
Her lips were soft and full, with a natural pink tint – the kind of mouth that looked poetic, even in silence. Her cheek bones – subtle but defined. She had thick, soft coiled hair and her figure – petite but curvy in the right places – waist snatched, posture poised her movement light like a breeze.
The storm outside was loud that night. Thunder cracked like gun fire. The roof leaked in two places. But inside the tiny kitchen, all Talia heard was the soft rhythm of her mother's hands –slicing mangoes with a grace that felt almost royal, even in a wrapper faded from too many types of washing.
Mrs. Grace Brooks sat on a stool, eyes tired but alive. Her smile… small, but warm enough to chase anything.
Talia sat across from her, clutching a pillow, knees to her chest.
"Mama, what if life never gets easier?"
She didn't look up right away. She kept slicing "Hmmm. Who told you life is supposed to get easier, ehn?" (Shelooked up) "Life is not soft, my child. But you are not soft either. You are steel wrapped in velvet, you bend, but you do not break."
She blinked. "but you're always tired."
She smiled. "Yes. I am tired. But tiredness is not defeated."She reached forward gently cupping Talia's chin. "You… are the dream I sent ahead of me. And dreams? They don't collapse. They bloom."
(Talia felt her throat catch. Her eyes stung) "What if I fail?"
She leaned closer, her voice barely above the rain. "Then fail forward. But never stop walking." She placed a slice of mango in Talia's hand, "Eat. And remember this taste when the world turns bitter."
Her mother had given her no riches. No shields. No shortcuts. Only faith, wisdom, and hands that had held the storm and still made fruit out of it.
When the beep changed everything
On a rainy evening, the rain fell like whispers outside her window. Talia Brooks sat on the edge of her narrow mattress – the kind that sank in the middle like it knew your back was tired of carrying life. The room smelled faintly of onions from dinner and of old books stacked beside her bed. The fan creaked with every rotation. Her feet were bare.
She was still in her faded work clothes – sleeves rolled up, apron folded on her lap, and fingers stiff from scrubbing someone else's luxury all day. She had just gotten home from her third job this week. The shift had been brutal. Her boss – her restaurant manager who treated her like a "personal maid" – had shouted at her for not smiling enough while mopping the bathroom floors.
She wanted to cry. But tears took energy. And she needed that energy to study later – if her eyes could stay open long enough. She glanced across the room, the cracked family photo on the wall. Her mother, frail from illness but always smiling. Her father, once strong, now slowed by the stroke he hadn't fully recovered from. Both depended on her.
School. Bills. Food. Rent. Medication. It was too much. She covered her face with her hands. "God… I just need one door. Just one. Please."
Her laptop sat on the wobbly table nearby – old, half-working, and humming like I needed rest too. She dragged herself towards it, wiping her palm on her skirt. She opened her inbox. 0 new messages. Of course. She sighed. Closed the lid. Sat in silence. Even the rain felt louder than her hope tonight.
But then—
Ping. Her phone lit up. She stared. Slowly picked it up.
1 new email from: Wolfe & Co.
Her breath caught. Her finger hovered – afraid to hope , afraid to open it and see another polite "unfortunately…" she clicked. And read.
Subject: Shortlist confirmation – Executive Support Role
Body:
Dear Miss Brooks,
You have been shortlisted for a high –level personal staff position at Wolfe & Co. Your skill set aligns with the standards expected within the private executive division. You are scheduled to begin orientation and training on-site this Friday at 8:00 a.m. dress code: Neutral. Clean. Sharp. You will receive further details from Mr. Alexander Blackwood. Welcome to the silence.
Talia read it twice. Then a third time. Her hand flew to her mouth.
Tears came before she could stop them. She clutched the phone to her chest – heart pounding, breath shaking—and for the first time in weeks, she felt something unfamiliar; A future. Not a fantasy. Not a miracle. A door. And she was about to walk through it.
Talia stood in the middle of the tiny living room, the email still glowing on her cracked phone screen. The walls were thin, the lights dim, and the smell of hot waterleaf soup lingered from earlier. Her father was in his chair by the window, half-asleep, his good hand resting over his chest.
Her mother sat at the small table, peeling boiled yams into a chipped bowl – humming a hymn under her breath.
Talia's throat tightened. The tears were already threatening. She blinked them back. Then I couldn't.
"Mama…." She whispered
She looked up. "Hmmm?"
Talia's lips trembled. Her voice cracked as she stepped forward. "Mama, I got in."
The words came out fast. Breathless. "The big company. The one with the tower downtown. Wolfe & Co. picked me. I—I start Friday. A real job. Good pay. Clean, private. I'm going to be okay. We're going to be okay."
(Her mother stood quickly, dropping the yam into the bowl, arms reaching out)
"Ah, ah Talia! My baby!" She wrapped her arms around her daughter, rocking her softly as the girl sobbed into her shoulder. "I told you,"
She whispered, holding her close. "I told you your hands are blessed."
Behind them, her father stirred in his chair.
"What's all the noise?"(He asked with a gruff voice but gentle).
"Daddy… I got the job."
His lips parted. Then—he smiled. Slow. Proud. Eyes shining with something unspoken. "That Wolfe man doesn't know how lucky he is."
Her mother chuckled, wiping Talia's tears with the edge of her wrapper.
"Go and show them. Show them what a daughter of mine can do."
And in that small, worn-out room – filled with chipped bowls and unpainted walls – a new story quietly began.
Talia sat by the window that Thursday evening, fingers still slightly damp from folding laundry. Her phone buzzed once. She wiped her hand on her shirt and picked it up.
New Mail -- Wolfe & Co.
Her heart skipped. She tapped it open.
From: Alexander Blackwood
Subject: Orientation Notice – Executive Support Role
Time sent 6:04 p.m.
Miss Brooks,
You are expected at Wolfe Tower, 47th floor, this Friday at 8: 000 a.m. sharp.
Full orientation will begin immediately upon arrival. Formal dress required. Light breakfast will be provided. Report directly to my office. Do not be late
Blackwood.
Talia read it twice.
Short. Direct. No warmth. But somehow, it still made her smile. That was it. She stood, heart steady, and whispered to the quiet room:
"It's happening."