Serpentine Desires

The biting Russian cold welcomed her as she stepped off the plane, a fleeting mist forming in the frigid air as she breathed out in nervousness.

It clung to her senses, contrasting the warmth of Texas where her family was. Seraphina thought that leaving behind the suffocating struggles would ease her stress, but it only seemed to fuel her anxiety more. She still didn't know what she was doing there or how she ended up in Russia. Her only answer was the scholarship letter and three hundred dollars that she exchanged at the airport earlier.

Though she was told that the scholarship included her tuition fee and dorm, she still had to pay for yearly semester fees and living expenses.

A sigh left her lips with mist as she dragged the luggage to the exit. The paper in her hand was wrinkled as she read the address written on it: Star Square-lane 25-building 56. Seraphina wondered how far it was. She could only spend a limited amount on fare. Pushing her hands into the long coat her aunt gifted her last Christmas, her fingers unconsciously rubbed on the money.

Her heart raced as she clutched the strap of her worn backpack, filled with nervousness and the weight of her mother's expectations. The subtle cut of anxiety added another layer to her already-storming emotions. It was her first time visiting a foreign land all alone without her mother. But this time, she had to. Her mother was the one who convinced her to take the scholarship test at Moscow University, and even though she was ready to fail, fortunately, she somehow got in. It was a startling surprise for both of them. She had two days to pack her stuff and leave for Russia. Her mother borrowed some money from her boss, and despite her refusal, she insisted on buying her woollen scarves and coats.

A small curve formed on her lips as she looked down at the maroon scarf. It was a handmade-limited edition, she might say since her mother knitted it herself in two days. All this made her reason for coming here more valid. It was just a matter of two years. To pay back all the debt and loans they owed, she had to become the responsible daughter. For how long would her mother suffer? She wanted her to rest now. To give her a peaceful life, where she didn't have to worry about anything. Her purpose was to graduate and get a decent job.

As she crossed the unfamiliar streets, the chill seeped through her coat. The receptionist said she'd find the cabs on the other side of the street. Crossing the pedestrian, she found the cab stand.

"Can you take me to this address?" she asked, grateful for the Russian lessons she took in her undergraduate course. Though her knowledge of the language was limited, she knew few basic sentences.

The man with a gruff beard and a big fleece jacket looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing at the address. "It's far from here," he said in his thick Russian accent. Far? How far? The receptionist said it would take her only twenty minutes to ride.

"How much then?" she inquired fidgeting with her hands as her hold on the straps tightened.

The man casually dragged in the cigarette and blew it in the air.

"7890 roubles," he stated bluntly. Her eyes widened. 7890? It was almost ninety dollars. She would be left with two hundred and ten dollars. How would she survive without money?

"How about 6000?" she pleaded with her eyes. Even one dollar meant so much in times like this. The man looked sceptically at her for a moment, studying her. He must have figured out she was a foreigner.

"Hmm...7000. No more, no less," he finally agreed.

She sighed. Here went her negotiation skills.

"All right," she conceded with a sigh. He put her luggage in the trunk, and she got in. The insides were warmer than the outside as she settled in. Her legs ached as she tried to stretch them. The driver rounded the cab before turning the radio on.

"В условиях бурного времени для высокопоставленных российских чиновников и бизнесменов, последствия конфликта на Украине и продолжающиеся экономические санкции создали мрачную атмосферу. По меньшей мере 15 российских бизнесменов и руководителей умерли при загадочных обстоятельствах, вызывая подозрения за пределами обычной случайности." The reporter said. Despite the restricted familiarity of the language, Seraphina caught on few words. 15 Russian business men have died under suspicious circumstances.

She prayed for their souls to rest in peace in her heart.

("In the turbulent times for high-ranking Russian officials and businessmen, the consequences of the conflict in Ukraine and ongoing economic sanctions have created a grim atmosphere. At least 15 Russian businessmen and executives have died under mysterious circumstances, raising suspicions beyond mere coincidence.")

"Таинственные обстоятельства, моя попа." The driver grumbled taking a turn. Sera sighed, focusing on the buildings outside as the news kept playing in the background. She peered out of the taxi window, the lights of Moscow shining brightly. A nervousness gripped her. She was already missing Texas's warmth. The tall buildings looked like giants reaching for the sky, unlike the small cosy houses she was used to living in. Cars rushed by, and people hurried along the sidewalks.

(Mysterious circumstances, my butt.)

While the city seemed lively and exciting, the radio in the background told a different story.

"Среди жертв – известные личности из Gazprom, Novatek и Lukoil, среди прочих. Причины смерти варьируются от инсультов до отвратительных инцидентов, таких как смерть от ядовитой слизи лягушки. Многие эксперты, включая Станислава Тейлора и Брайана Волкова, сомневаются в официальных объяснениях о самоубийствах или плохом здоровье, намекая на нечто более зловещее."

("Among the victims are well-known figures from Gazprom, Novatek, and Lukoil, among others. The causes of death vary from strokes to gruesome incidents, such as death from the poisonous slime of a frog. Many experts, including Stanislav Taylor and Brian Volkov, doubt the official explanations of suicides or poor health, hinting at something more sinister.")

"Where you from, girl?" The Russian driver asked in a thick English accent jolting her up. Sera glanced at him, unsure if he was addressing her. She seemed startled for a moment but soon recovered.

"States," she replied, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. The driver spared her a quick glance through the rear-view mirror as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

He shook his head in disbelief, his rough features contorting into a grimace. "Should have stayed there," he muttered under his breath.

Her brows knitted in confusion, Sera turned to face him, her gaze searching his weathered face for answers. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

A momentary silence followed. The reporter in the background kept on dictating the news. Her ears perked as she caught up on the names mentioned. A sudden chill ran down her spine.

"В это же время бизнесмен Юдас Романовский вступил в союзы с пенсионером из Испании, бывшим торговцем оружием. Возникают предположения о его причастности к недавнему перестрелке. Обнаруженное близ порта оружие и патроны произведены в Испании. Хотя нет никаких убедительных доказательств, власти работают над этими событиями."

Shootout. Weapons. Spain. And... Judas Romanovski. Sera held her breath.

("At the same time, businessman Judas Romanovski has entered into alliances with a retiree from Spain, a former arms dealer. Speculations arise about his involvement in the recent shootout. The weapons and ammunition discovered near the port were manufactured in Spain. Although there is no compelling evidence, authorities are working on these events.")

Unsure of what the man meant, she let out a sigh and blocked out the news reporter. The more she heard, the more anxious she was getting. Calm down. There was no way she'd caught herself amidst the danger. She was just a student. From hostel to college and repeat. Get a part-time and stay away from trouble. The only motto she lived by and she'd live by.

The car took a sudden turn, slowing down before coming to a halt. Sera looked around as they stopped in front of a fancy building. It took her off guard. This couldn't be the hostel? She uncrumpled the paper in her hand and read the address again. Star Square-lane 25-building 56.

"We are here." The driver grumbled in a rough accent. Nodding, she got out of the taxi. The cold air hitting her exposed face and neck immediately, "Get your luggage out."

"What-oh!" Feeling stupid, she quickly ducked in and grabbed her trolley bag along with a smaller one. "Spasibo."

The driver gave her a look and then turned around. She blinked unsure if she offended him somehow. As long as she knew, that thank you was Spasibo in Russian, did she somehow misinterpret it?

"Будь осторожен, в тени могут быть змеи."

Sera frowned. Be careful of... snakes?

She watched as the taxi drove away. Something strange settled in her chest. She couldn't pinpoint it, but she could feel it. The suffocation for a second, a feeling of something close to fear.

She kept looking at the empty road for another moment before blinking away with a shake of her head. She must've misunderstood him. Maybe there really were snakes around and he wanted to warn her to be aware of them. Calming her heart, she swallowed hard and brushed away the sensations. Focusing her attention on the building, she took a deep breath. These two years would take long, she could feel already.

Her clutch on the bags tightened and with a determined sigh, she got ready to face whatever would come her way.

**********

I was tired, so tired I couldn't even lift a finger. My back was screaming at me for being a superwoman last night and my buttocks were sore. God damnit! Not even a week and I already wanted to go back.

Lord knew why I decided to be a saviour when I knew I was a blind owl. Couldn't even see without those four-eyes enhancers aka glasses, and now, not only was I left with a broken elbow and sprained foot, but broken glasses too. I got them fixed before moving to Russia, and now it'd take another sum of money to repair them. Great. Looks like my clumsy heroics come with a price tag – and not the discounted kind. Brilliant. Now I'm not just Seraphina, I'm Seraphina, the Walking Disaster.

"You up, Dorogaya?" She walked through the bathroom door wearing nothing but a towel. I quickly averted my eyes, feeling my cheeks warming. Despite the Russian cold, Alina preferred wearing less clothes than a sunbathing lizard. "Had breakfast?"

I continued packing my bag in a hurry, realizing I had less than twenty minutes left for class. "I don't have enough time to rush to the cafeteria," I muttered to myself, grabbing the assignments before stuffing them into the bag with the finesse of a squirrel cramming nuts into its cheeks.

Pens? Check. Identity card? Check. Why do I feel like I was missing something? Maybe it's my invisible cloak for those embarrassing moments. Oh wait, that's just wishful thinking. But seriously, what else could it be? Did I forget to pack my pet rock? My lucky underwear? My emergency stash of chocolate? Nope, they'd stay in here.

Ah well, if I was missing something, it'd just have to join the ranks of the lost socks in the laundry basket.

"Have some coffee before you leave, okay?" I looked over my shoulder as she extended the coffee mug, our eyes meeting.

"Thanks," I muttered grabbing the cup, her fingers brushed against mine and I couldn't help but notice how beautiful and soft her hands were.

"No problem," she winked, sauntering away to blow dry her hair, leaving me standing there like a startled flamingo. "You can help me with assignments later though," she added over her shoulder.

I took gulps of the coffee, twisting my mouth at the strong taste, feeling like I'd just ingested a liquid form of rocket fuel. Well, at least it matched the intensity of my impending panic attack at the thought of helping her with assignments. Great, just what I needed – a double shot of caffeine and anxiety. Cheers to my glamorous life!

Even without makeup, she looked beautiful. Her dark charcoal eyes looked at me through the mirror as she blow-dried her hair. "...Of course..." Why did she have to look like a goddess while I resembled a potato caught in a rainstorm? Life really wasn't fair sometimes.

"Are you free this Friday; we can hit the club or go to a bar, what are your thoughts?"

Trust me, nothing was more blissful than hitting the club, getting drunk, forgetting all the problems even if it was for just one night, and being the cool girl. Having a group of friends to chill around, having cute coffee dates, going on shopping sprees, falling in love, having my heart broken, then finding another boy, being the girl everyone desired to be.

But I neither had time nor money to be that girl.

"No, I need to get this assignment ready by this week."

I always watched those girls with a mixture of envy and resignation. Their lives seemed so effortless, like a dance they had mastered while I struggled just to stay on my feet. I wasn't saying I'm different from other girls, not in a way that implies superiority or some unique struggle. No, I was like most girls, the ones who didn't struggle to live but lived to struggle.

The luxury of carefree moments and spontaneous fun wasn't part of my reality. Bills needed paying, responsibilities demanded attention, and dreams were often put on hold indefinitely.

"You're so boring, but I like you." I managed a small smile and resumed packing my bag.

Alina hummed some song as she styled her hair. And the void in my chest deepened.

It wasn't that I didn't want those things – the laughter, the freedom, the sense of belonging. I craved them as much as anyone else. But life had a way of pulling me back to the ground, reminding me that my journey was different. I had to work twice as hard for half as much, and sometimes, it felt like I was running a race I could never win.

During high school, I had a decent amount of friends. We shared laughter, secrets, and dreams of the future, thinking nothing could tear us apart. But as I grew older, we parted ways. Or perhaps it was when I lost my father that they realized I didn't have money to spend on outings and frivolous activities anymore. Gradually, they drifted away, their absence as silent as the void that filled my life after my father's death.

I lost contact with them soon after that. My father's passing was a blow that shattered our family, both emotionally and financially. The weight of the world seemed to fall upon my mother's shoulders, and as the eldest child, I felt an overwhelming guilt. I should have been able to do more, to protect and support her.

So, I took on my first part-time job at a nearby cleaning station, working long hours for eleven months. I felt so proud the day I handed over my saved money to my mother. But the pride was fleeting. The money I gave her was only one-fourth of the amount we needed for rent yearly. That day, I realized that no matter how hard you work, it won't be appreciated unless it meets certain expectations.

The problem was that I wanted to be the man of the house for my mother. I wanted to lessen her burdens, to give her a home of our own, and to hire someone to help with the chores so she wouldn't have to exhaust herself every day. I wanted her to rely on me, not the other way around.

Her tears became unbearable for me to see. She cried herself to sleep every night, tormented by the uncertainty of how she'd pay our next month's bills. That uncertainty, that gnawing fear, I wanted to take it away.

I learned to become self-reliant. I became so used to doing things by myself.

I grabbed my jacket throwing it over my fleece sweater and jeans. Trying not to think about Texas, I hurriedly grasped my bag and was about to rush through the doors when I remembered.

My lip gloss.

No matter how poor I get, I would never do the sin of forgetting my lip balm. Even if I was to die today, I'd rather die with moisturised lips than chapped ones.

Alina waved. "Bye, Bye, Серафима,"

Applying a thick layer over my lips, I smacked them together before rushing down. Shit, I was going to be late.

******

By the time I limped through the hallways towards my class, I was so tired and already wanted to go home. Home. A bittersweet ache settled in my chest. There'd be no home for the next two years.

It had been only two days since I'd arrived in Russia. The next half hour was spent in a blur. Whatever she was saying, I couldn't follow. Maybe it was the language barrier, or maybe it was knowing that, at the end of the day, I'd have to study these topics by myself. I'd probably spend hours in the library gathering material so I don't fail this term.

I'd proudly say I was not an academic student; I was the average one who swayed between scoring regular marks or touching the maximum bar, depending on my interest in the subject. And this particular subject, genetics-I hated it. Not because it had mathematical equations in it, but because I couldn't cram it.

Finding peace in the confines of the backbenches, I sat on the empty seat I could find. The next professor was twenty minutes late, and till then I made a mental note to stroll through the streets of Moscow this evening to hunt for a part-time job.

The students around me were chattering, their voices a mix of excitement and laughter, making me feel like an outcast. Friends gathered in tight groups, sharing jokes, gossiping, and planning their weekends. Their easy camaraderie highlighted my solitude.

To my left, a girl with bright red hair talked about her latest date, her friends hanging on every word, their giggles ringing out. On my right, a group of boys debated last night's football game.

I clutched my books closer, feeling the sharp sting of being ignored. The bench seemed to shrink beneath me, the gap between me and everyone else growing wider. I tried to focus on my book, but the words blurred, drowned out by the life around me.

A few feet away, Alina stood with her friends. She was the centre of attention, her dark eyes bright with laughter. For a moment, she looked my way and smiled, a brief connection that warmed me. But then she turned back to her friends, her laughter echoing in the hallway, leaving me in the cold.

I wondered how it felt to have friends, to be someone's priority. Even as a friend.

A sigh left my lips as I plugged in my earphones listening to podcasts and lowered my head on the bench.

"How would you rate your life on a scale of ten, Ms. Polani?"

"It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Oh, you know, the usual factors: coffee availability, the weather, whether or not my favourite show got cancelled again."

"So, what's the score today?"

"Well, considering I spilt coffee on myself this morning, my WiFi is acting up, and someone just spoiled the ending of that book I've been dying to read... let's call it a solid 3."

"A 3? That bad, huh?"

"Hey, I'm being generous. Yesterday was a 2. But then I found a chocolate bar in my desk drawer, so it bumped up a bit."

"Wow, tough crowd. What would make it a 10?"

"A 10? Hmm, let's see... A personal barista, a tropical island, unlimited data, and maybe a unicorn. But honestly, I'd settle for a day without traffic and people who don't ask me to rate my life."

I chuckled. Francesca Polani was one of the only people I could relate to. She's funny, sarcastic, confident and a writer.

"Fair enough. So, what's it like being you, Ms. Polani?"

"Oh, it's a real thrill ride. Imagine a rollercoaster where the safety harness is questionable, the tracks are missing in places, and instead of a safety net, there's a trampoline."

"That sounds... exciting."

"If by exciting you mean "constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown," then yes, it's a hoot."

"So what do you do to cope with the chaos?"

"Well, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I binge-watch cat videos, perform dramatic readings of my spam emails, and occasionally pretend I'm a majestic potato, just lying there, doing nothing.

"Majestic potato? That's a new one."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it. Sometimes you just need to embrace your inner spud."

"Any other life hacks you'd recommend?"

"Sure, always have a backup stash of chocolate, learn to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and never underestimate the power of a good nap. Oh, and avoid people who ask you to rate your life on a scale of ten, again."

The interviewer laughed with the audience.

I was so immersed in the podcast that I didn't realize the chittering around me had died down, leaving me as clueless as a goldfish trying to solve a Rubik's Cube.

A surprised yelp escaped my lips when someone tapped my shoulder. Completely taken by surprise, I almost threw my arms at the intruder, like a startled octopus trying to defend its territory, only to be caught mid-air by a hand.

The earbuds slowly rolled down my ear, like some reel was playing in slow motion as if they were auditioning for a dramatic entrance in a movie. I slowly looked around to find the whole class pin-drop silent, every pair of eyes assessing me like I was the unexpected protagonist in a low-budget horror flick.

Well, wasn't that just prime calamari?

Ms. Olga's eyes glared down at me, and I... wanted to be anywhere but in the path of her laser-beam gaze. Maybe a quick escape to Narnia or a teleportation to the nearest chocolate factory would do the trick.

"Done with your daydreaming, Ms. Rosewood?" Ms Olga's voice sliced through the silence like a chainsaw through butter.

I snapped back to reality, my cheeks flushing crimson as I fumbled for a response. "I... I am so-"

"Yeah? Careless American blood," she interrupted, her tone dripping with disdain.

The classroom seemed to shrink around me, and I could feel the weight of every eye boring into my soul. My mind raced, desperately searching for a witty comeback or an escape route, but all I could manage was a feeble nod.

Today was definitely not the day I'd win any awards for quick thinking.

I lowered my head, feeling like a scolded puppy as I mumbled, "I'm so sorry," hoping my apology would somehow dissolve the tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. But judging by Ms Olga's unyielding gaze, I might as well have been apologizing to a stone wall.

She let go of my wrist, and I immediately cradled it against my chest. "Next time be mindful,"

I nodded avoiding her gaze as she gave me one last glare and fixed her glasses going straight to the front.

My cheeks burned as the girls sitting opposite my bench snickered, their eyes scanning me up and down with smug amusement. Feeling thoroughly embarrassed, I bent down to grab the earbuds, my hands clumsy with nervousness. Naturally, I managed to drop them again. "For heaven's sake," I muttered under my breath, watching in dismay as one earbud rolled away and came to a stop just a few inches from my reach as if mocking my every move.

Crawling under the bench, I was just about to grab the elusive earbud when a hand beat me to it. Startled, I jolted upright, only to smack my head on the underside of the bench.

"That hurts!" I exclaimed, wincing as I rubbed the sore spot, feeling my face flush even deeper with embarrassment.

"Here," a voice said. I frowned, unsure if he was talking to me, still dazed from my head bump. Just then, I felt someone tugging at my sleeve. Jolting in surprise, I looked down to see a face peering under the table, grinning widely. "Looking for this?" he asked, holding the earbud just out of reach, his expression somewhere between amused and mischievous.

Startled, I blinked a few times, trying to process before reaching out to take the earbud. My fingers brushed his as I retrieved it, and I quickly shoved it into my bag, hoping to avoid any further awkwardness.

"Thank you," I mumbled, trying to sound casual as I sat back up, still rubbing the sore spot on my head.

I held my breath as he scrambled closer.

"Ivan," he said, extending his hand. I glanced at him, then at his hand, as if it were a strange alien artefact I'd never encountered before, before tentatively shaking it as if it might explode. His soft green eyes were as round and bright as a startled owl's, and his wide grin made him look like he'd just won a lifetime supply of cheeseburgers. His features, framed by hair that seemed to have its own gravitational pull, were soft and gentle, making him look more like a confused puppy than a university student.

"Seraphina," I mumbled, my voice barely audible over my internal panic orchestra. Why was he even talking to me in the middle of class?

Please don't talk to me. I'll end up embarrassing myself and then spontaneously combust from the sheer embarrassment.

Just keep it together, Seraphina.

Remember, you're a majestic potato just like Francessca. A majestic, socially awkward potato who's currently failing at human interaction. Keep calm and try not to trip over your breaths.

But to my dismay, he seemed immune to Ms. Olga's glare.

"Exchange student?" he persisted. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara, and resorted to scribbling in my notebook like it held the secrets of the universe. Unfortunately, all that came out was a page full of indecipherable gibberish, which was probably a fitting representation of my current mental state.

"Scholarship," I managed to nod, my voice betraying my nervousness like a traitorous sidekick in a cheesy spy movie.

"Woah, that's cool," he said, his bright eyes gleaming with curiosity, like a kid in a candy store who just discovered a new flavour. He turned towards me fully, leaning in, and suddenly, the laws of genetics being explained by Ms Olga might as well have been in Martian for all the attention I was paying. Ivan was so close that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, like specks of stardust sprinkled by a cosmic artist. I could even catch a faint whiff of his cologne, something fresh and misty as if he'd just stepped out of a waterfall.

My heart pounded in my chest like it was auditioning for a percussion section, as I scooted to the edge of my seat, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks like a pair of overripe tomatoes. And just when I thought things couldn't get any more embarrassing, my hand slipped over the table, knocking down my water bottle.

My eyes widened as I watched it roll in slow motion, panic surging through me. Before I could react, Ivan's hand darted out and caught it just before it hit the floor. His reflexes were impressive.

"Thanks," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper, feeling like I'd just dodged a bullet. Glancing down at my shoes, I wished they could swallow me whole. My face flushed even more, and my fingers fidgeted nervously. Summoning courage, I looked up and met Ivan's gaze with a shy smile, hoping it didn't scream-panic attack.

He chuckled, his green eyes crinkling with amusement as he ran his hand through his hair like he was auditioning for a shampoo commercial. "I'm from Moscow. How about you?" he asked, his tone warm and inviting, as if he genuinely cared about the answer.

"Originally from Texas," I sighed tucking a strand of hair behind my ear nervously. "But I've lived in a few places. We used to move around a lot."

"I got a scholarship to study engineering," Ivan explained leaning back in his seat and focusing on the front. "I don't know in what right mind I chose this damn subject. Still regretting it, though."

"Um, yeah," I replied, fidgeting with the cap of my pen. "I'm here for the science program. I, uh, I'm really into genetics, even though it's tough. This school has one of the best programs in the country."

"That's impressive," I averted my eyes as he turned towards me. "Science and engineering, quite the combination." His face lit up with excitement, his grin widening as he leaned in closer.

"Right?" I laughed nervously.

"So, have you been here long?" he asked.

"Just a week," I shrugged. "Still getting used to everything. The culture here is so different."

"I bet," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "If you need any help or just want to hang out, let me know. I've been here a semester already, so I kinda know my way around."

"That would be great, thank you," I said, genuinely grateful. "I could use a friend here."

"Consider it done," he said with a timid smile. "So what do you do for fun back in Texas?"

"Well, I like to play chess, and I'm really into reading," I shared. "What about you?"

"I love going to museums and exploring new cities," he replied, my fingers still nervously playing with my pen. "And I've been getting into photography lately."

"Maybe I could show you some of my work sometime," he suggested.

"I'd love that," I said, my eyes lighting up briefly before I looked down again.

"Deal," Ivan agreed. "Looks like we both have a lot to share."

"Definitely," I said, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Just as I turned around to say something, the bell rang, and Ms. Olga wrapped up the class. "Medusa's leaving," he whispered under his breath.

I stifled a laugh. "Quick, before she turns us all to stone with her glare." My heart thumped loudly as I looked at him.

"Well, see you later," I stuffed my books in the bag.

"IVAN!" someone called from across the room.

"I'll have to go, or, do you wanna-"

"That's all right. I need to explore the library," I said quickly, eager to escape the intensity of the interaction. I wanted to engage with him, to make new friends, but I also couldn't shake the nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me to stay quiet, to blend into the background like I always do. It told me that I was not interesting enough, not outgoing enough, not enough to warrant anyone's attention.

"Okay, see you around, Seraphina!" he said with a cheerful wave.

"See you," I replied softly, watching him walk away with his characteristic bounce. I exhaled deeply, my heart still racing. The thought of standing out, and drawing attention to myself, filled me with a sense of dread. What if people saw me for who I really was and didn't like what they saw? What if they laugh at me, ridicule me, reject me? The thought was enough to send shivers down my spine, to make me want to shrink even further into the background.

*******

"I'm so sorry, dear, but we need someone who can... understand...take...orders?"

This was my sixth rejection. Even though I tried to make them understand, nothing worked. They needed someone who could make their job easier, a local, not a foreign student like me who struggled to understand the language. To some extent, I could understand where they were coming from. Hiring me would only add to their workload.

Sighing, I smiled at the kind woman. "Все в порядке, я понимаю"

Come on, I can speak Russian. You don't have to look at me like I'm some dumb American-

She looked wide-eyed at me for a second but then gave me an apologetic smile. "Have a good day."

My smile faltered. What? That's it? She could've reconsidered. I need this job for god's sake!

I mentally kicked myself for not putting on a better show, for not conjuring up some miracle to sway her decision. Unfortunately, it seemed fate had other plans, and I found myself dealing with the bitter taste of rejection once again. Time to dust off the resume and try, try again. Who knows? Maybe lucky number seven would be the charm.

Well, rejection number six didn't sting any less. Maybe next time, I'd charm them with my proficiency in French or my knack for making a mean batch of pancakes. It was all about finding the right fit, even if it meant enduring a few bumps along the way.

Clutching the bag tighter, I trudged towards the dorm, feeling the icy tendrils of cold seeping through my jeans and freezing me to the core. My teeth chattered as I futilely blew on my hands, hoping to coax some warmth into them, but my efforts were in vain. I cursed under my breath, regretting my blind faith in the weather forecast today.

Note to self: never leave home without an extra layer, or ten, in this hard Russian winter.

After changing into warm clothes, I skipped dinner and lay in my bed. The day's exhaustion had taken a toll on me. From embarrassing myself in the class, spending five hours in the library, hunting down every café and possible part-time job place in the area, I was ready to call it a day.

I didn't have to overthink today to sleep. It came naturally. Subconsciously I reminded myself to get the glasses fixed on my way to university tomorrow.

*******

"Everything's good, dorogya?" Alina asked when I slumped on my seat next to hers.

My mouth twisted at the sight of the breakfast, bowl of soup and bread. "If getting rejected from six places is considered good, then I'm feeling fucking marvellous." I didn't feel like eating anymore. I had lost all hope that I'd find a job anywhere. Only if I showed interest in the Russian language in my high school.

"Told ya'. You can still consider my offer though," I scoffed at her response and narrowed my eyes.

"No thanks. You enjoy your shady part-time, I am fine," I ate the soup in silence, running through my options. Maybe I should try a pet shop next? At least they'd accept me, since I speak animal language sometimes. Or maybe I could become a professional napper? I've got the sleeping part down to an art. How about a Netflix binge-watcher? I was practically a black belt in that.

"Oh, come on, it's not shady, it just offers more. See," she turned towards me with a mischievous grin. "You just have to dress pretty and sway your hips and they'll give you money for that," Alina exaggerated.

Dress pretty and sway my hips? Sure, because I totally have the grace of a swan and not the coordination of a drunk giraffe.

Maybe I could give them a good laugh and charge for entertainment. Watch me trip over my own feet and still somehow spill drinks on myself. I could just see it now.

"You mean a bar dancer? No, I'm good," I sighed, shaking my head. Alina just shrugged and turned to her other friend, chatting away in rapid Russian, leaving me to fend off my own thoughts.

Great, now my brain was spiralling. Maybe I should consider stand-up comedy; my life was a joke anyway. Or I could try mime-how hard can it be to pretend you were stuck in an invisible box? Knowing my luck, I'd probably get stuck in a real one.

And damn this soup!

A girl plopped down next to me with her breakfast and a newspaper, sporting a pair of oversized round glasses and newspaper under her armpit. Suddenly, I was hit with a wave of realization-I needed to get mine fixed too.

I glanced down at my own glasses, which were currently being held together by a few pieces of duct tape. They looked like they'd been through a war.

Note to self: Add 'get glasses fixed' to the never-ending to-do list.

With a sigh, I absentmindedly swirled the spoon in my bowl of soup, my mind drifting into a fog of morning weariness. But then, like a beacon in the sea of newsprint, one word jumped out at me from the Russian newspaper in front of the girl next to me.

Almost sending my spoon flying into the bowl, I lunged for the newspaper, my eyes narrowing in on the mysterious word as if it held the key to unravelling a centuries-old mystery.

Требуются сотрудники

(Employee needed)

The girl shot me a pissed-off look, but I paid no heed to her annoyance. With grit burning in my veins, I grabbed Alina's arm and turned her towards me, her confusion mirrored in her expression as I shoved the paper into her face and pointed anxiously at the word. My heart thudded like a bass drum in a rock concert, the adrenaline coursing through my veins drowning out any sense of embarrassment.

"Translate it for me," I demanded with urgency feeling sweaty in this cold.

"It says, 'Hiring a caretaker. Offers... fuck!" Alina's eyes widened as she abruptly snapped her head toward me. "10,000 dollars!"

My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a rush of excitement coursing through my veins. Ten thousand dollars? My eyebrows shot up so high, that I was in danger of losing them in my hairline.

She quickly pointed to the bottom of the newspaper, her finger trembling with anticipation as if she'd just discovered the treasure map to El Dorado. "The details...Черт возьми, дорогая, переведи на русский,!" Her Russian was taking over her English as she jumped up and down, clearly more excited than me. I half-expected her to break into a celebratory dance routine right then and there, but luckily, she managed to contain her enthusiasm to just fist pumps and high-pitched squeals.

Meanwhile, I sat there, still trying to wrap my head.

Grabbing my phone with shaky hands that felt more like overcooked spaghetti noodles, I dialled in the contact information. If I managed to snag this job, I'd be thanking every deity in existence daily, offering sacrifices of chocolate and coffee to ensure my continued good fortune. As the phone rang, my heart pounded in my chest.

"I'll be back!" I rushed out of the cafeteria to the secluded corner, pacing around with my hand on my waist, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up-Anxiousness gnawed at my nerves like a hungry squirrel on a nut.

"Привет?" I swallowed hard.

"Am I talking to Kyle Molotov?" There was a long, awkward pause and I mentally kicked myself for speaking in English instead of Russian. Taking a deep breath, I tried again, my tone dripping with politeness. "Привет, это Кайл Молотов? Hi.. um... Привет, это Серафина. Я увидела объявление в газете и хотела бы узнать, доступна ли эта вакансия." I tried in broken Russian.

(Hello, this is Seraphina. I saw the advertisement in the newspaper and wanted to know if this vacancy is available.)

The man's voice was deep yet polite. "Я отправляю вам адрес, мы можем встретиться здесь и обсудить."

(I'll send you the address, and we can meet here to discuss.)

"Oh, yes yes! I mean да! Да!" I jumped up, almost stumbling and knocking myself into the wall. I fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it, and then the call cut off. I stared at the phone, my heart racing. A wide grin spread across my lips as I realized what just happened. I probably looked like an overexcited puppy that just found out it was getting a treat.

But who cares as long as I get the job, right?

Oh, damn! I should hurry.

Rushing to my room, I pulled on a warm sweater and a fluffy scarf, struggling to get it over my head. Then came the jacket, but damn these rebellious strands of hair! Sticking out in every direction like a botched science experiment. Who needed enemies when you've got your own hair plotting against you?

Securing them in a messy bun I grabbed my bag and lip gloss before calling a taxi.

******