Prologue
The clock on the wall ticks louder than usual. I sit across from my boss's desk, trying to look calm even though my chest feels tight. My hands rest on my lap, my fingers twisting slightly. I've been in this office countless times before—but never like this.
"Elara," she says, looking up from her monitor. "Is something wrong?"
I take a slow breath. "Ma'am," panimula ko, "I just wanted to let you know that... I'm planning to start looking for another job while I wait for the end of my contract."
Silence. It's the kind that fills every inch of the room, heavy and uncomfortable. She blinks once, then leans back slightly. "Another job?"
I nod. "Yes Ma'am. I've been here for quite a while, and I'm really thankful for everything— but I realized I've been standing still. Waiting for something that might never happen. I think it's time for me to move forward."
Wala siyang imik sa mga sinabi ko for a few seconds. Then she smiles— a small, polite curve that feels more like acceptance than understanding.
"You've always been one of my most reliable staff," she says softly. "You know that promotion we discussed—"
"I know," I interrupt, my voice quieter now. "And I appreciate it. But... I think I've waited long enough."
"Nasayo narin po nanggaling Ma'am, may iba silang gustong ilagay sa posisyon na iyon at parang wala lang sa kaniya yung pagrekomenda sakin."
The hum of the air conditioner fills the silence between us. Finally, she nods. "I understand. I wish you the best, Elara."
I stand, forcing a small smile. "Thank you, Ma'am."
As I leave the office, I close the door gently behind me. The click echoes faintly—soft but final. Standing in the hallway, surrounded by the faint smell of floor polish and paper, I suddenly remember the first time I ever walked through these doors.
I was eighteen years old then— nervous, hopeful, clutching a brown folder of documents like it held my future. I can still see the crooked name tag on my blouse, still hear the sound of keyboards and printers, still feel that tiny spark of pride thinking, "This is it. I'm finally starting my life."
But that was years ago.
And somewhere between all the late nights, the "maybe next time," the "just be patient," and the "you're doing great"—that spark slowly faded.
Now, as I walk down the same hallway, with the same bag slung over my shoulder, I realize this place wasn't the beginning I thought it was.
It was just a stop. A long, long stop.
I take a deep breath, adjust the strap of my bag, and start walking again.
I don't know where I'm heading yet. But for the first time in years—
I'm finally moving.
