Becoming Us

“If I’m still surviving on bank transfers from my mum at twenty-eight,” said Vicki, squinting at her reflection in the mirror, “either fate’s a sadist testing me with money, or I’m just a puppet-child who missed the bus to adulthood.”

One hand fluffing her hair, the other dragging red lipstick from the centre of her lips outwards, she kept talking:“Still can’t decide which one it is. Maybe both. Karma points: zero.”

Same ritual every morning. Red lipstick was her declaration of war — a kind of armour.Her rising sign was Leo, after all.Sun symbols, lipsticks, golden eye shadows… for her, it wasn’t just about aesthetics — it was belonging.No matter how insecure she felt, that red in the mirror whispered,“Come on, Vicki. Let’s go to war.”

But that morning, one of her sun-shaped earrings fell into the toilet.Literally.

She’d rushed while trying to put it on and — “Plup.”

“No... no, NO!”She slammed the lid shut. Let out a long sigh.“Perfect. Starting the day with just one earring. I wonder what that means astrologically. Half an aura? Dimmed light?”

She’d lost the earring.But at least… she had a job now.

First day.First shot atactualincome.For the first time in years, her rent, electric bill, groceries — not being paid by her mum.

That thought… loosened something tight in her throat.Just a little.

She’d always tried to create something.She’d made digital designs and tried to sell them online — minimalist posters, ‘aesthetic’ Instagram templates…But things had never gone quite like they did on Pinterest.Two sales in three months.One from her cousin.The other by mistake.

She also had a blog —Coffee, Karma and Women.She poured herself into her writing, but her reader count had always stayed in the single digits.Her mum once even left a comment:“Proud of you, honey. But do you have to swear this much?”

So this job — maybe simple, maybe temporary — was still afirst.Steady income.A real office.She missed not having to think twice before buying a coffee.She missed seeing a pair of green heels in the window and thinking,“I’ll get them when my salary hits.”She didn’t have a shopping list, but she had dreams.She actually had taste, a sense of style — just never the credit limit to show it.

She paused as she packed her bag.At least she’d remembered to bring a spare CV.Laptop wasn’t charged, but she had her phone cable.“Life. Not perfect, but enough.”

When she stepped out, the weather wasn’t too hot or too cold.That tired, brownish tone was hanging in the Istanbul sky — typical morning mood.

She got on the bus and hit play on her own Spotify playlist:“Clinging to Life.”First song:Elton John – I’m Still Standing.

The office was in a building just above a bank.Modern design, yes — but every time she approached it, the automatic doors never opened on time.“Have I done something to offend you?” she muttered at the glass.The door didn’t open.She nudged it with her elbow.It groaned open.

“Everything stubborn, just like me.”

The security guy at the entrance took her ID and checked the list.“Vicki Bussy… Yep, new starter. Fourth floor, to the right.”

She took a breath in the elevator. Opened and closed her hands.“Calm down. Breathe. This time, it’ll work.”

The office floor was wide. Glass dividers, grey tones, a digital coffee machine, and straight ahead — a big glass door:“Glenn Gallivant – CEO.”

The staff member guiding her pointed towards a desk.“That’s your spot. Mr. Gallivant will see you shortly.”

Vicki nodded, said thanks.And right then, the door opened.

Glenn Gallivant.

He was like a silhouette —Black suit, perfect shave, steady but unreadable eyes…It was like he’d beenbornas an Excel spreadsheet.Zero errors.Zero gaps.Uncertainty? Never.

“Bussy,” he said.Not cold, not warm.Just… like a wall.

Vicki straightened up. Pulled her shoulders back.“Good moooorning!” she sang, dragging the word out.She wanted to sound cheerful. She knew it wasn’t quite right.More like… something thatresembledcheerfulness.

Glenn didn’t break eye contact.“You’re ten minutes late.”

“Punctuality’s not about the clock, it’s about intention,” Vicki said, semi-philosophical. “Iintendedto be on time. The metro didn’t.”

Not even a flicker from Glenn’s face.“Not an acceptable excuse.”

Vicki smiled.“But it’s a pretty funny one.”

Silence.Without looking away from his screen, Glenn closed his file.“You’ll be giving the presentation.”

Vicki’s stomach sank like it was trying to disappear inside her.“Me?” she asked, voice just slightly shaky.

“Yes. Surprise us with your creativity.”

Vicki raised an eyebrow, smiled with effort.“Perfect. I keep my presentations… not in Google Drive, but in a mental cloud.”

Everything was set up in the presentation room.Coffees, macarons, notes, people…Everyone was chatting. Vicki was completely quiet inside.

And then…

Glenn’s cologne.It entered the room like its own person.Woody, spicy, timeless.It felt like skin. Like a whisper. Like the half-second right before a kiss…

She got distracted. Properly.

Vicki blinked herself back to the moment.Took a deep breath. Stood up.

The presentation screen was blank.Laptop open, no content.The plan in her head? Scattered.

But her instincts?Same as always — unprepared, but on stage.

“Uhh… hi,” she said.Glanced around.Glenn wasn’t making eye contact.That was either a good sign… or really bad.

“As you can see, my presentation is spontaneous.Which means… you’re all about to be just as surprised as I am.”