42.

The wind had picked up by the time Alina pulled her phone from her pocket, her fingers stiff from the cold. She stared at the screen, half-expecting another meaningless notification. Another reminder of nothing.

But instead, she saw it.

Subject: Interview Invitation – Translator Position

Her heart lurched.

She clicked the email open, her pulse drumming in her ears.

*"Dear Ms. Martin,

We are pleased to inform you that your application for the Translator position has been reviewed, and we would love to invite you for an interview at our office. Please find the details below..."*

She skimmed the rest, barely breathing. The company name—one of the mid-sized publishing houses she had sent her application to—stood out like a beacon in the message.

This was it.

This was something.

Alina sucked in a sharp breath, pressing her phone to her chest. For the first time in days, the silence around her didn’t feel quite so heavy.

She had to prepare.

—

The office was warm, a stark contrast to the chill outside. Alina sat in the reception area, her hands gripping the folder in her lap, her nerves buzzing under her skin.

The publishing house wasn’t massive, but it was reputable. Their translated novels often gained traction, and they had a strong reader base.

She had read some of their work before. Dreamed about being part of something like this.

And now, she was here.

"Ms. Martin?"

She jolted slightly, standing as a woman in a crisp navy-blue blazer approached her with a welcoming smile.

"Yes, that's me," Alina managed.

"Right this way."

The interview room was bright, lined with bookshelves, the table neat and uncluttered. Two people sat across from her—the woman who had called her in, and a man with glasses and a sharp but not unkind expression.

"Let's begin," the woman said, clasping her hands together. "We were very impressed with your application."

Alina nodded, swallowing against the nerves crawling up her throat.

They started with the standard questions. Why she was interested. Her experience. Her passion for literature.

And then came the real test.

"We'd like to see how you translate in real time," the man said, sliding a document toward her. "This is an excerpt from a novel we're currently working on. Give it a try."

She took a breath, steadied her hands, and read. The Chinese characters swam in front of her for a moment, but then she found the rhythm, the meaning slotting into place in her mind.

Her pen moved swiftly across the paper, instinct guiding her. She wasn't just translating words—she was capturing the soul of the passage, the emotion beneath the lines.

When she finished, she placed the pen down, her chest tight with anticipation.

The two interviewers shared a glance.

"This is excellent," the woman said, nodding. "Not just accurate, but it has the right flow. Natural, expressive."

Alina exhaled, barely containing the relief surging through her.

"But," the man said, leaning forward, "we actually have another proposal for you."

She blinked. "Another proposal?"

"Yes." The woman smiled. "While we were reviewing your application, we came across your writing portfolio. Your short stories, your fantasy novel excerpts—we were thoroughly impressed. You’re not just a translator, Ms. Martin. You’re a writer."

Alina’s breath caught.

"We’d like to offer you a dual role," the woman continued. "A translator for our Chinese web novel division, and a contracted author under our publishing label."

The words felt surreal. Like they weren’t meant for her.

She had spent so long chasing something, anything, and now—this.

A real opportunity.

A real chance to be seen.

To be heard.

Alina realized her hands were trembling slightly as she clasped them together, searching for words.

"I—" She took a breath. "Yes. I’d love to."

The woman beamed. "Welcome aboard, then."

As Alina shook their hands and stepped out of the office, the weight in her chest lightened.

For the first time in a long while—longer than she cared to admit—she felt something other than emptiness.

She felt hope.