Chapter 1
Mysha’s POV
The first thing that greeted me when I stepped out of the aircraft wasn’t the view.
It was the cold.
A sharp gust of wind swept through the jet bridge, making me instinctively pull my denim jacket tighter around myself.
“So this is London...” I murmured, smiling to myself.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I’d been standing beneath Pune’s warm July sun while Maa insisted I pack yet another sweater.
“Take one more jacket.”
“Maa, it’s July.”
“It’s England.”
At the time, I’d rolled my eyes.
Standing here now, I had to admit she deserved an apology.
I followed the stream of passengers through Heathrow Airport, taking everything in with wide eyes. The terminal was enormous—bright, orderly, and buzzing with quiet efficiency. Even though every sign was in English, everything somehow felt unfamiliar. The announcements echoed through the building in crisp British accents, forcing me to concentrate a little harder than usual.
Immigration was surprisingly painless.
A few routine questions.
A stamp on my passport.
A polite smile.
“Welcome to the United Kingdom.”
Just like that, months of paperwork, interviews, visa appointments, and endless waiting were finally behind me.
I was really here.
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
If someone had told seventeen-year-old me—the girl who stayed up late studying hotel management while wondering if she’d ever leave India—that she’d one day be training at one of London’s most prestigious hotels...
I would’ve laughed in their face.
My suitcase rolled behind me as I followed the signs toward Arrivals.
The automatic doors slid open.
Families rushed into tearful embraces. Children squealed as they ran into waiting arms. Drivers stood nearby holding neatly printed placards, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.
For the first time since landing, the excitement faded just a little.
Everyone seemed to have someone waiting for them.
I didn’t.
Then I spotted it.
MS. MYSHA SHARMA
Relief washed over me.
The man holding the placard noticed me approaching and smiled politely.
“Ms. Sharma?”
“Yes.”
He offered his hand.
“Welcome to London. I’m Daniel. The hotel sent me to pick you up.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Before I could protest, he reached for one of my suitcases.
“This way.”
Rain drizzled softly against the taxi window as we drove away from Heathrow.
I rested my forehead against the cool glass, watching London slowly unfold before me.
Rows of brick houses.
Bright red double-decker buses.
Black cabs weaving through traffic.
Cyclists gliding effortlessly past cars.
People carrying umbrellas despite the rain being little more than a mist.
I’d seen these streets hundreds of times in photographs and travel videos.
Yet somehow...
Seeing them with my own eyes felt completely different.
Daniel glanced at me through the rear-view mirror.
“First time abroad?”
I laughed.
“Is it that obvious?”
“A little.”
“My first flight too.”
“Really?”
I nodded sheepishly.
“I was convinced the plane was falling during take-off.”
He chuckled.
“I promise that’s a very common reaction.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Silence settled comfortably between us, broken only by the gentle rhythm of rain tapping against the windows.
After a while, Daniel spoke again.
“You’ll be reporting tomorrow morning.”
“I know.”
“Nervous?”
“A little.”
He smiled.
“Everyone is on their first day.”
I looked back out the window.
“I suppose.”
“You’ll do fine.”
Such simple words.
Yet they eased the knot in my stomach more than I expected.
Nearly an hour later, the taxi turned onto a quiet residential street and stopped in front of a three-storey brick building.
It wasn’t luxurious.
It wasn’t particularly impressive.
But somehow, it looked welcoming.
Daniel stepped out and unloaded my luggage.
“This is the staff accommodation.”
He handed me a cream-coloured envelope.
“Your employee ID will be issued tomorrow. Your temporary access card and reporting instructions are inside.”
“Thank you. Really.”
“My pleasure.”
With one last smile and a wish of good luck for my first day, he climbed back into the taxi and drove away.
For a few seconds, I simply stood there.
One suitcase.
One backpack.
One entirely new life.
Taking a deep breath, I rang the doorbell.
The door opened almost immediately.
A woman in her late fifties greeted me with a warm smile.
“You must be Mysha.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Emma.”
Then she laughed softly.
“Although everyone here insists on calling me Mrs. Emma.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Come inside before you freeze.”
The warmth that greeted me inside was almost as comforting as her smile.
Mrs. Emma led me into a small office near the entrance where a neat stack of forms waited on the desk.
The paperwork didn’t take long.
Emergency contacts.
Accommodation rules.
Laundry schedule.
Kitchen responsibilities.
Quiet hours.
Once everything was signed, she handed me two keys.
“Room 3B.”
“You’ll be sharing the apartment with three other trainees.”
“I was told.”
“Two young men and another young lady.” She smiled knowingly. “One of the boys is Indian. It might make settling in a little easier.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“That’ll be nice.”
“They’ve all gone away for the weekend.”
Relief slipped through me before I could hide it.
After nearly twenty hours of travelling, I wasn’t sure I had enough social energy left to meet three complete strangers.
“They’ll be back tomorrow evening.”
“Okay.”
Mrs. Emma stood.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.”
The apartment was brighter than I’d expected.
An open living room flowed into a tidy kitchen. A dining table sat beside the window, and a hallway led to four bedrooms and two shared bathrooms.
Everything was simple.
Clean.
Comfortable.
“The kitchen is shared,” Mrs. Emma explained as we walked.
“The refrigerator shelves are labelled, everyone takes turns cooking and cleaning, and if you ever have any problems, my office is downstairs.”
As we passed through the living room, my eyes caught a small collection of framed photographs resting on a shelf.
The faces had been turned away, making it impossible to see who they belonged to.
Nearby, a cricket bat leaned casually against the wall.
Someone had forgotten a navy-blue hoodie on the sofa.
The apartment already felt lived in.
It made the empty rooms seem a little less lonely.
Finally, Mrs. Emma stopped outside the last bedroom.
“This one’s yours.”
She opened the door.
A single bed.
A wardrobe.
A study desk beside the window.
A bookshelf.
Nothing extravagant.
But it was mine.
“For the next year,” Mrs. Emma said gently, as though she already knew what I was thinking.
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Get some rest.”
“You’ve had a long journey.”
“I will.”
The room fell silent after she left.
My room.
My first room away from home.
I sat slowly on the edge of the bed, letting the reality settle around me.
No Maa calling from the kitchen.
No television humming in the background.
No familiar voices drifting through the house.
Just silence.
Almost without thinking, I reached for my phone.
The screen lit up immediately.
Maa ❤️
Papa
Riya ❤️
Reached?
Call us when you’re free.
Safe?
A lump rose in my throat.
I pressed the video call button.
The call connected almost instantly.
“There she is!”
Maa’s face filled the screen.
“My child...”
The sight of her nearly undid me.
I smiled before she could notice the sting behind my eyes.
“I’m here.”
For the next hour, I told them everything.
About Heathrow.
About the flight.
About the rain.
About how England was, in fact, cold.
About my room.
About tomorrow.
By the time we finally said goodbye, the apartment had grown quiet once again.
Outside my window, evening settled gently over London.
Streetlights blinked to life one after another.
Cars rolled past below.
People hurried home beneath umbrellas, carrying grocery bags and takeaway coffee.
An entire city carried on, completely unaware that I’d just arrived.
My stomach growled.
I laughed.
“Maa was right.”
Opening one of the containers she’d quietly tucked into my suitcase despite my repeated protests, I found neatly wrapped theplas and homemade pickle.
Of course she had.
Some things never changed.
After warming the food in the microwave, I carried my plate to the window and watched the city glow beneath the fading sky.
Tonight, it was just me.
A city of millions stretched beyond the glass, while an unfamiliar room waited behind me.
Somewhere between the two lay the life I’d spent years dreaming about.
Tomorrow, I would walk through the doors of The Ritz London for the very first time.
What I didn’t know then...
was that the place where my life would truly begin wasn’t the hotel.
It was this apartment.
And I was only one day away from meeting the people who would change everything.
