The office fell into a hush as the last of the employees packed their bags and left, the sound of their laughter fading down the elevator shaft. Mia sat alone at her cluttered corner workstation, the blank expense report staring up at her like a taunt. The towering stack of unsorted files loomed beside her, but Elena's order had made it clear— the expense report took priority. She pulled out her old laptop, its plastic casing scratched and dented, and pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life after a three-second delay, the fan whirring loudly as if straining under the simplest task. Mia sighed, opening a new document and staring at the blinking cursor, her mind blank. Where was she supposed to find last quarter's office supply data? Elena had given her nothing—no spreadsheets, no access codes, no hints.
She hesitated for a moment, then stood up, clutching her laptop. The office was dim, with only the emergency lights casting a faint, cool glow over the rows of empty workstations. She wandered toward the nearest cubicle, where a half-empty coffee mug still sat on the desk—someone who'd left recently. She knocked gently on the partition, even though she knew no one was there, then peeked inside. No files, no notes, nothing useful. She tried the next cubicle, then the one after that, her steps quiet as she moved through the silent office. Every desk was neat, every drawer closed, as if the employees had anticipated her search and hidden all traces of work. She even checked the break room, the copy room, the small storage closet down the hall—nothing.
Desperation led her to a group of cubicles where a few late-night workers still hunched over their computers, their eyes glued to screens. Mia took a deep breath, steeling herself, and approached a woman with glasses, typing furiously. "Excuse me," she said, her voice soft, almost tentative. "I'm Mia, the new Admin intern. I need to find last quarter's office supply expense data for a report—could you point me in the right direction?" The woman didn't even look up, her fingers still flying over the keyboard. "Not my department," she muttered, her tone sharp. "Ask someone else." Mia's cheeks burned, but she nodded and turned to the next person—a man in a gray sweater, sipping coffee. "I'm sorry to bother you," she said, repeating her request. He glanced up, his eyes tired and irritable. "Do I look like HR or Finance?" he snapped. "Figure it out yourself. I've got my own deadlines."
One by one, she asked three more people, and each time, she was met with the same cold dismissal—either ignored outright, snapped at, or told it wasn't her problem. By the time she trudged back to her workstation, her shoulders were slumping, her energy drained. The initial determination to prove herself had faded, replaced by a heavy, hopeless weariness. She sat down, resting her head in her hands for a minute, then remembered the small cloth bag she'd tucked into her canvas tote that morning. She pulled it out, unzipping it to reveal a cheap rice ball—she'd bought it from a convenience store on her way to work, spending two of the dollars her father had given her. It was cold now, the rice hardening around the sparse filling of pickled plum. She took a bite, the dry rice sticking to her throat, making her cough softly. She chewed slowly, forcing herself to swallow, but after two bites, she couldn't take it anymore. She wrapped it back up and set it aside, her stomach growling but her appetite gone. Saving money meant skipping proper meals, but she hadn't realized how hard it would be to work on an empty stomach, with only cold, dry rice to sustain her.
The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, moving from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m., then to midnight. Mia's laptop continued to whir and sputter as she scrolled through the few public company folders she had access to, finding nothing but outdated memos and irrelevant meeting notes. Her eyes burned from staring at the screen for hours, her back ached from the rickety chair, and her fingers felt numb from typing. She was about to give up and rest her eyes for a minute when she noticed a faint light coming from the far end of the office—another late-night worker. Curiosity piqued, she stood up and walked toward it, her feet silent on the carpet.
As she drew closer, her heart skipped a beat. It was him—the guy she'd spilled coffee on earlier that day. He was sitting at a sleek workstation, far nicer than hers, a large, high-end laptop open in front of him. The screen glowed brightly, displaying complex spreadsheets that Mia couldn't even begin to understand. He was leaning back in his chair, one hand resting on the keyboard, the other holding a half-empty cup of coffee. Even in the dim light, she could see his focused expression, his brows furrowed slightly as he stared at the screen. For a moment, she hesitated—should she approach him? She'd already embarrassed herself once that day, and he'd been so cold and dismissive. But he was the only other person left, and maybe… maybe he'd be willing to help. Or at least listen to her apology.
Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice quiet, afraid of breaking his concentration. He looked up, his deep brown eyes meeting hers, and for a second, she saw confusion flicker across his face, then recognition. He straightened up slightly, closing the spreadsheet on his screen—an unconscious, subtle gesture that made Mia feel like she was intruding. "Hi," she said, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I… I'm Mia Carter. We ran into each other earlier, in the pantry. I spilled coffee on your coat. I wanted to apologize again—really, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention, and I messed up your coat, and…" She trailed off, realizing she was rambling, and took a shaky breath. "I just graduated from State University, and this is my first day as an Admin intern here."
He nodded slowly, his expression neutral, no warmth or irritation in his gaze—just polite indifference. "Liam," he said simply. "I'm an intern too, in Administrative Department. Just got my master's from Stanford." The words hit Mia like a small punch to the gut. Stanford. A master's degree. It was a world away from her university, from the years she'd spent working part-time to pay for classes while her parents struggled to keep the diner afloat. She felt even smaller, even more out of place, as she stared at him—polished, educated, with a high-end laptop and a coat that probably cost more than her monthly rent. Of course he was from Stanford. They were never going to be the same kind of intern.
Silence hung between them for a moment, and Mia hesitated, then blurted out her request, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I was wondering if you could help me. My supervisor gave me an urgent expense report to finish—last quarter's office supply data—but she didn't give me any resources. I've asked everyone else, but no one will help. Do you… do you know where I might find the data?" For a split second, she saw a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe annoyance, maybe disbelief—before his expression hardened into cold neutrality. "This isn't school, Mia," he said, his tone flat, no hint of sympathy. "You don't get to ask others to do your work for you. Figure it out yourself—that's part of being an intern."
His words stung, sharp and humiliating. She hadn't asked him to do her work—just to point her in the right direction. But his assumption, his immediate dismissal, made her feel like he thought she was lazy, like she wanted to copy his work instead of earning it. "I'm not asking you to do it for me," she said, her voice trembling slightly, but she didn't push further. She could see from his expression that he'd already shut down, that any further request would be useless. She nodded, her head hanging low. "Right. Sorry to bother you. And… again, sorry about the coat." She turned and walked back to her workstation, her shoulders shaking with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.
She sat down, staring at her old laptop, its fan still whirring loudly as if mocking her. She glanced over at Liam's workstation—his high-end laptop ran smoothly, no noise, no lag, displaying complex data with ease. The gap between them felt insurmountable. He had Stanford, a master's degree, a nice workstation, a laptop that worked. She had State University diploma, a rickety chair, a broken-down laptop, and a supervisor who hated her. They weren't just different interns—they were from different worlds. Despair settled over her as she opened a blank document again, the cursor blinking like a cruel reminder of her helplessness. She forced herself to scroll through the company's public folders once more, but every click only brought up irrelevant files. Minutes turned into an hour, and she grew more and more desperate, her eyes burning with fatigue and anxiety. She didn't notice when Liam stood up from his workstation, or when he walked toward her—until his shadow fell over her screen. She jolted, looking up, her eyes wide with surprise. He was standing beside her desk, his expression still neutral, but there was no longer the cold indifference in his gaze. Instead, there was a faint flicker of hesitation, as if he'd argued with himself before coming over.
"The office supply expense data is stored in the Finance department's shared drive," he said, his voice low, like he didn't want anyone else to hear. He tapped a quick sequence of keys on her laptop's keyboard, pulling up the company's internal drive directory. "Look for the folder labeled 'Q3 Quarterly Expenses'—it's password-protected, but the intern access code is 'WG-Intern-2024.' I… I shouldn't be telling you this," he added, glancing away, "but watching you dig through those old files would take all night, and you'll never make the deadline." Mia stared at him, stunned, her mouth hanging open. She didn't know what to say—gratitude, relief, confusion, all swirling together. "Why… why are you helping me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. He shrugged, his cheeks flushing faintly, a rare crack in his composed demeanor. "You looked like you were about to cry. And… I overreacted earlier. You weren't asking for handouts, just directions. That's not the same as copying work." He stepped back slightly, returning to his neutral stance. "Don't mention it to anyone. And hurry—access to that folder is restricted after 5 a.m." With that, he turned and walked back to his workstation, resuming his work as if nothing had happened. Mia stared at the drive directory on her screen, her heart racing with relief. She quickly entered the access code, opened the "Q3 Quarterly Expenses" folder, and there it was—a complete spreadsheet of last quarter's office supply expenses, organized and clearly labeled. Tears pricked at her eyes, not of sadness, but of gratitude. He'd been cold, yes, but he'd had a change of heart. He'd helped her, even when he didn't have to.
With the complete data in hand, her work sped up drastically. She didn't have to waste time digging through dusty files or guessing at missing numbers. She typed furiously, her fingers flying over the keyboard, pausing only to rub her tired eyes or stretch her cramped hands. Her old laptop still sputtered occasionally, but with a clear roadmap, the lag was manageable. She saved the document repeatedly, terrified of losing her progress, and by 4 a.m., she'd finished entering all the data. The final hour was spent formatting the report—adjusting columns, adding headers, double-checking the calculations to ensure everything added up. When the first rays of sunlight streamed through the office windows, painting the walls golden, she printed the report, holding it in her hands with a mix of exhaustion and pride. She'd done it. Thanks to Liam's quiet kindness, she'd met the deadline. She glanced over at his workstation, where he was still focused on his screen, as if he'd never left his seat. She wanted to thank him again, properly this time, but she didn't want to disturb him. Instead, she mouthed a silent "thank you" in his direction, then settled back into her chair to wait for Elena's arrival.
At 7:30 a.m., Elena arrived, her high heels clicking loudly through the quiet office. Mia stood up, holding the printed report in her hands, her heart racing with nervous anticipation. "Ms. Harris," she said, holding out the report. "I finished the expense report, just like you asked."
Elena took the report, flipping through the pages slowly, her red lips pressed into a thin line. Mia held her breath, waiting for praise, for even a hint of approval. But it never came. Instead, Elena slammed the report down on Mia's desk, her eyes blazing with anger. "This is unacceptable," she snapped. "The data has holes—look at this section, the numbers don't add up. Did you even check your work?" Mia's eyes widened, shock washing over her. "I… I checked it twice, Ms. Harris. I found the data in the storage room, and I entered it correctly—"
Elena cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand. "Save it. Excuses won't fix this. You have until the end of the day to rewrite this report, and this time, make sure the data is accurate. And Mia?" She leaned in, her voice low and menacing. "This office runs on rules. If you can't learn to follow them—if you can't figure out how to do your job correctly, without cutting corners or making excuses—then you won't last long here. Understand?" Mia nodded, her throat tight, the relief she'd felt moments ago replaced by cold, crushing fear. The all-nighter had been for nothing. The report was flawed. And Elena was giving her a warning—one she couldn't afford to ignore. She stared at the crumpled report on her desk, her hands shaking, realizing that her nightmare wasn't over. It was just beginning.