Chapter One: Overtime
The Tentherm factory sounded different during COVID.
Machines still ran, metal still moved, but the space felt heavier—quieter in a way that settled into the bones. Masks hid faces, distance separated people, and conversations rarely lasted longer than necessary. The rhythm of the machines became the loudest voice in the room.
Tania barely noticed any of it.
She was working overtime again, standing at her machine, focused and alert, hands moving with precision despite the ache settling into her shoulders. Being a machine operator wasn’t easy, but it paid better than most jobs available to an international student—and she needed every dollar. Tuition didn’t wait. Bills didn’t pause for pandemics. Survival demanded consistency.
Overtime wasn’t optional. It was necessary.
She checked measurements, adjusted settings, and kept her eyes sharp, knowing one mistake could cost time she couldn’t afford to lose. Her body was tired, but her mind stayed locked in place—finish the shift, collect the hours, go home, repeat.
She didn’t notice Pawan watching her from across the floor.
He was a machine operator too, assigned a few rows away, the steady hum of equipment surrounding him. Unlike Tania, he had already graduated. His work permit was in process, approved but still not fully settled, and he stood in that uncomfortable space between effort and reward. He knew what it felt like to build a future piece by piece.
But when he saw Tania working late—again—something pulled his attention away from his own machine.
She didn’t look around. She didn’t talk much. She just worked.
There was something about the way she carried herself—quiet, determined, almost invisible unless you were paying attention. When she finally glanced up once, her eyes caught the overhead lights, and Pawan felt it instantly. They weren’t asking for anything. They were strong, tired, and focused on getting through the day.
He thought about walking over.
Then he stopped himself.
She looked like someone who didn’t have space for interruptions. Someone whose life was already heavy enough. So instead of forcing conversation, Pawan chose patience. He noticed who she spoke to, how her face softened when her best friend joined her during slower moments. He listened more than he spoke, learning her world without stepping into it too quickly.
Tania finished her shift long after most workers had left. She cleaned her station, logged out, and gathered her things without looking back. To her, it was just another day at the factory. Another set of hours earned. Another small win.
She walked out into the night air unaware that someone had seen her—not as just another operator on the floor, but as someone worth noticing.
Pawan stayed behind for a moment longer, the machines still humming around him, unaware that this quiet overtime shift would become the beginning of a story neither of them could yet imagine.
