The Old Mistake

That damned morning kicked off with a tiny explosion. The hair dryer lit up like an Olympic torch. Viana panicked, her hair still half wet, and the room’s electricity tripped. She flung the towel still clinging to her head, and with only one eyebrow drawn on, she sprinted out of her cheap rented room like a food courier chasing a doomed delivery target.

On the way, her online taxi driver decided to have an existential discussion.

“Miss, are you sure you want to work in law? Life should be driven by passion, you know…”

Viana nearly snapped back, Driver, I just crawled out of hell, and trust me—my life is full of passion. Passion not to be broke!

By the time she reached the office, she strutted in with hair resembling half-cooked instant noodles and asymmetrical eyebrows like two anime characters from different genres.

Breathless, so when HR asked, “What is your greatest strength?”

She answered between coughs, “I… will not combust even when the world tries to blow me up—as it just did.”

Meanwhile… on the twentieth floor.

Astara Nixon Mahendra flipped open a folder of interview candidates while swiveling his chair toward the window. It should’ve been an ordinary day. But one résumé made his fingers freeze. His index finger halted on the name.

Viana Aulianne.

Astara stilled.

His mind stirred with the ruins of a past he’d never dared to dig up again. An old mistake. A sin from high school he’d never atoned for. He, the coward back then. He, the reason Viana’s school days—so heavenly from the outside—had felt like a private hell.

And now—right in front of him—her résumé appeared. Applying for a front desk assistant position. Low-level. Minimum salary. Even though Viana had a degree, experience, a brain, and humor sharp enough to light up a dark room.

“Juan,” he said flatly but fast.

His personal assistant appeared instantly, tablet in hand and wearing the usual expression of what-weird-thing-is-it-this-time.

“This one—hire her immediately. But not for that position. Make her my secretary.” Astara held up a résumé. “Double the salary. Move her desk into my office.”

Juan rolled his eyes. “Sir, you’ve been insane since day one.”

“It’s not what you think,” Astara added quickly. “She… did a lot for me back then. I… owe her.”

A lie. A flimsy cover for the truth he was too ashamed to admit: his decision was built on guilt—heavy, unforgiven guilt.

Juan snorted while jotting things down. “Sir, you do realize this sounds like a soap opera episode? A random applicant suddenly becomes the director’s secretary?”

“Make the process look natural. Don’t tell her anything. Don’t make her suspicious. Just… get her in. Today.”

Juan sighed. “Fine. But if she throws the folder at your face later, I’m not getting involved.”

That night, Viana sat cross-legged on her thin mattress, laptop in front of her, the glow of the screen painting her tired face pale-blue.

Her finger hovered above the trackpad, too nervous to open the inbox.

The room was quiet, except for the faint sound of her neighbor’s fishbowl filter bubbling like a weird lullaby.

She exhaled, closed her eyes, bowed her head and whispered in her heart:

God, please show me what’s best according to You. If this application gets accepted, I’ll be grateful and work hard. But if it doesn’t… could You maybe double-check the list, Lord? Maybe sneak my name somewhere in there?”

Her lips twitched at her own ridiculousness, a quiet laugh escaping.

“Yeah, right. Like Heaven’s HR department has time for my unemployment drama.”

She clicked open her email anyway, bracing for whatever the universe had planned next.

And nothing came. Yet.

She hung her head, a little disappointed.

Two days after that disastrous interview, Viana received an email from HR that made her choke on her bottled tea.

"Congratulations! You are accepted as the Executive Secretary of Mahendra Law Firm."

She reread it.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

“Executive... secretary??” she shrieked in her tiny room that barely fit one mattress and a half-broken dream.

She shot up. “Secretary… of who? The director?? You mean… the boss level above the HR lady who looked unsure about my eyebrows?!”

She stared at the screen again. “Did I send the wrong application? Did they misread my name? Or is this some kind of prank—tomorrow they’ll tell me to sweep the rooftop wearing a unicorn costume?”

She shut her laptop, hugged her pillow, and laughed soundlessly in disbelief.

“My life really loves pranking me.”

The morning sky was suspiciously blue for a first day at work. Viana stood across the sidewalk, staring at the skyscraper with its glass panels gleaming like they’d just finished a deluxe facial treatment. Up there, the building seemed to taunt her. Ahe could almost hear it saying. Come on, climb me, maybe your social status will climb up too. Viana grinned.

She exhaled deeply. Her three-centimeter heels—five felt too aggressive for a first day—clicked against the asphalt with energy that resembled regret more than enthusiasm.

Welcome, Viana. Your new office. The place where you will reevaluate every life decision—with fixed salary and instant coffee sachets, she told herself.

Positivity? Possible. But exhausting.

Cynical realism with a touch of sarcasm? Much easier.

Still, she had to admit—luck had been weirdly kind to her lately.

Seriously? I was fifteen minutes late to my interview, my hair half-dry because my hair dryer exploded, and I somehow got hired as the executive secretary? Who am I, the owner’s secret daughter? she wondered, baffled.

Of course not. She was just a regular cheap rented-room tenant with peeling green walls and a neighbor who kept fish in the bathroom. Yet somehow, life kept handing her these K-drama-level plot twists.

She pushed open the lobby door. The air-conditioning greeted her like an ex pretending they never broke her heart.

“Good morning, Miss Viana,” the receptionist said. “Please proceed to the twentieth floor. The Director is waiting.”

Ah yes. The boss. The mysterious Mr. Astara. His name sounded divine. His aura probably was too. Arrogant and bothersome.

Meanwhile, on the twentieth floor…

Astara sat behind a long, expensive wooden desk, staring at his monitor with the innocent calm of a cat that had just knocked a vase off the table.

Viana had arrived in the lobby. Five minutes earlier than he predicted. Even earlier than the notification from his “paid informant” who usually reported her movements.

She’s punctual today… impressive. Is this also the day the sun rises from the west? he thought with a faint smile, ignoring the way his heartbeat thumped a little harder.

His laptop was open, but he wasn’t reading the emails. Ever since Viana was hired, his notifications had fallen into only two categories: work… and Viana.

Not that he was obsessive. He was simply… responsible. Especially for a past mistake that still stabbed like a misplaced staple.

I just want to make sure she’s okay. From afar. Secretly. No drama. And hopefully… without her throwing a folder at my face.

He knew Viana hadn’t forgiven him. Probably never would.

But that was fine.

For him, being within the same radius as her already made this bland world feel like warm tea on a rainy day.

Back to Viana…

The elevator stopped on the twentieth floor. She stepped out.

Okay, let’s see. The boss is probably old, bald, and calls women “miss” three times in one sentence. Or worse—someone I know. Because my life LOVES plot twists, she braced herself.

And when the director’s office door opened…

The plot twist arrived. Dramatically.

With a smile she knew far too well—and wanted desperately to scribble over with a permanent marker.