I got on the metro, quietly slipping into an empty seat, still half-lost in my thoughts, when I heard a voice behind me snort, "Does your butt still hurt?"
I froze. A part of me wanted to turn around and throw something at the guy, but instead, I ducked my head in shame. These past two weeks had been pure hell. I'd deactivated most of my social media, kept my phone switched off for long stretches of time, and even covered my face when stepping outside. My only comfort? Grandma hadn't found out about the scandal. Thank God for that miracle.
Before I uninstalled everything, I made the stupid decision to scroll. And it was worse than I imagined.
One post had over 3 million views: me in that red frock, mid-toast, bottle in hand, eyes watery, and then boom—down on the floor.
The comments? Brutal.
"Someone give her acting classes, not just Andrew."
"Attention seeker much?"
"How to ruin a proposal 101."
"Why does she fall like a sack of potatoes?"
"Damn, Andrew dodged a bullet."
And the worst were the fangirls:
"OMG I would die if someone like her came between me and Andrew."
"No wonder she was a nerd. Looks like she drank all her self-respect."
"Girl really thought she was the main character. Sit down."
I had also seen fan edits of Andrew and Farzeen—their romantic moments, her reaction, the proposal—with dramatic background music and aesthetic lighting, and in between clips of me falling. They even edited a tomato splat sound effect when I hit the floor.
That was it. I shut it all down. Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, even LinkedIn—gone. I threw my phone to the corner of my room and went offline like a criminal on the run.
Andrew had become the hot topic of the nation overnight. There were all kinds of bizarre rumors swirling around him, me, and Farzeen. From being called a clout chaser to people speculating I sabotaged the proposal out of jealousy—I'd seen it all before deleting my apps. What hurt the most? Neither Andrew nor Farzeen tried to contact me. Not even a text. It wasn't like I wanted him to, but after knowing him for all these years, a small part of me expected at least a, "Hey, you okay?" But there was nothing. Just silence. And maybe, I was a little relieved by that.
Today, I had an interview at Insoft—one of the biggest and fastest-growing companies globally. Honestly, I was more terrified of being recognized from the video than of flunking the actual interview.
When I was called in, a group of professionals sat across the long wooden table. They began with my name, then moved swiftly into technical and behavioral questions. I answered everything the best I could. I was just starting to feel confident when a woman narrowed her eyes at me and asked, "You look very similar to the girl from Andrew's party video."
The air in the room shifted. All eyes turned to me.
I paused. I couldn't lie. So, I nodded and admitted, "Yes, that was me."
That opened the floodgates.
Suddenly, I was bombarded with personal questions—not about my skills or experience, but about the video, the party, my relationship with Andrew, and my 'intentions.' I tried to remain calm, but I felt like a fish thrown into a tank of piranhas.
Finally, an elderly woman at the center cleared her throat. "See, Sana, I really appreciate your knowledge. But we can't approve someone who appears irresponsible. It's become a huge scandal now, and we have a company image to maintain. I hope you understand."
My heart sank. That was it. Rejected.
I left the room in a daze. I was furious. At myself. At life. Normally, when I get mad, I scream until my lungs give out. But now, I had to keep it in.
As if the universe wanted to test me further, the gardener outside accidentally sprayed water all over me with a hose. My brand-new kurta clung to me like wet tissue. I was soaked.
I didn't yell. I just walked.
That's when I saw it.
A Rolls Royce. My dream car.
Something inside me snapped.
I kicked the bumper lightly. Then again.
"They don't even know how to interview properly! Biggest company, my foot!"
"Ahem," someone cleared their throat.
I turned. A tall man in a suit stood behind the shining car. I couldn't see his face clearly because the sun was blinding, but I didn't wait. I gave the car one last kick and walked away, embarrassed.
A few steps later, someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me aside. I bumped into his chest.
"You weren't looking at the road, were you?"
It was a guy in a hoodie and ripped jeans, headphones around his neck. His eyes were sharp but kind.
"I was ju... just a bit..." I fumbled.
"Frustrated?" he asked softly, then looked me in the eyes. "You just got rejected, didn't you?"
I stared at him, speechless.
"Don't ask me how I know," he said, cutting me off. "I, Noah, really feel like life is overrated today. Why don't we grab some tea nearby?"
I hesitated. After everything, and especially the scandal, I didn't know if I should go.
But he took my hand again, gently, like we were already friends. "Don't think so much."
We ended up at a nearby tea stall. He talked a lot. And somehow, it was comforting. His voice, his energy, the way he made jokes out of nothing—I hadn't smiled like that in weeks.
"So, how did you know I was rejected?" I asked.
He sipped his chai. "Because my brother works at Insoft. I know how things work there. Your file came up in a discussion. People talk more about drama than skill. But trust me, it wasn't your fault. They just suck."
He leaned closer. "You're more than one dumb video. They just don't have the eyes to see it."
I blinked. "Okay, that was unexpectedly supportive."
He smirked. "I have my moments. But mostly I just talk crap."
"What do you do, Noah?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Everything and nothing. I'm figuring things out. I write sometimes, I assist my brother sometimes, and I watch a lot of crime shows in between."
I laughed. He made me forget everything.
"I know pretty much about this company, so if you ever need help then I am just one call away but wait oh no! I don't even have your phone number."
"I've already been rejected, so I don't think I have much to talk about except bitching about it. But we can definitely talk about anything else than this," I replied.
We exchanged numbers. He held up his phone and grinned. "Anything else than this."
He walked me back to the metro station. Said he had loads of free time.
I couldn't tell if he was flirting or just weirdly friendly. Either way, I kind of needed it.
The next three days, I drowned myself in job applications. Rejections. Resumes. Edits. Repeat.
Then, unexpectedly, Insoft called.
I had been selected.
They offered me a two-month internship.
I couldn't believe it.
On the first day of my internship, I dressed as professionally as I could. A fresh notebook in hand, hopeful heart cautiously guarded.
When I entered the building, I was asked to report directly to the CEO.
As I walked toward the office, I could hear a man yelling inside.
"How could you be so reckless?! Do you even know where you work? Who the hell is going to fix the mess you created?! You're fired. Don't say another word. I want you out in an hour."
I gulped.
A woman passing by saw me frozen outside and asked why I wasn't going in.
I gave her a weak smile. I hadn't done anything wrong. So I took a deep breath, knocked gently, and entered.
Inside stood a man, sharply dressed, light beard, muscular, with a strong cologne that filled the room. His veins popped as he typed aggressively. He looked more like a sculpture than a human. I was busy admiring him when he looked up.
"Take a seat," he said without expression, and continued typing.
There was a strange spark in his eyes.
I sat quietly.
He suddenly looked up again. "If you're done staring, we can begin."
I jumped. "No, I wasn't. I mean… I'm Sana."
"I've seen your resume," he said flatly. "You'll work as my secretary."
"Secretary?" I repeated. "But I applied for the manager's post. I don't even know—"
He looked me dead in the eyes. "You were rejected for manager. The internship isn't for that position. You can work as my secretary for two months. Prove yourself responsible, and then you can be considered for management. My ex-secretary will train you. Don't get into another scandal."
He slid a contract across the table.
I was about to walk out, but then I saw the salary.
Ten thousand dollars per month.
I quickly calculated in my head: my entire education loan could be paid off in six months.
I signed. Walked out.
The air outside felt ten times lighter.
I later found out that the man who had been fired just before my entry was the ex-secretary.
He was still outside.
"Thank you, Raheem, for explaining everything," I told him.
He gave me a sad smile. "Ethan is a monster. I don't know why he came to India to expand the company. I was his 24th secretary. No one lasts more than a week with him."
He walked out with a small wave.
I didn't stay long either.
Picked up groceries. Headed home.
The moment I stepped inside, Alex and Dia ran to me.
"All the videos!" Dia yelled.
"They're gone!" Alex finished.
"What?" I blinked.
"Your viral videos. Deleted from every major platform," Dia grinned.
I was in shock. We popped open a bottle of wine and danced in the living room.
Finally, some peace.
Then, my phone rang.
Andrew.
I hesitated. Picked up.
"Hey," he said. "Can we meet this Sunday?"
Before I could respond, he hung up.
My head spun again.
Had Andrew done this? Did he get the videos removed?
Why did he want to meet?
And more importantly—how the hell was I going to survive this new job?