Addy woke early that morning, her head pounding slightly from lack of sleep. She had spent most of the night scrolling through job sites, hoping for something—anything—that might finally change her luck.
The first thing she did was check U-Job, a site she hadn't tried before. Nothing. Still no opportunities.
"Frustrated, she dragged herself out of bed, grumbling under her breath as she stumbled toward the bathroom. She leaned over the sink, stared at her reflection in the mirror, and let out a tired sigh before reaching for her toothbrush."
She took her time brushing her teeth, then reached for the floss, carefully working it between each molar. Maybe it was because of the heavy meal she'd eaten the night before, but more than she expected came loose. When she was satisfied, she rinsed her mouth and spat out the water. For a moment she stood in silence, staring into the mirror, willing herself to believe that today was going to be a good day
**"Not long after she finished brushing and flossing, her phone buzzed. She sighed before even checking the screen, but when she saw the name flashing, her mood shifted instantly. Riley. Her one and only friend.
She answered quickly.
'Hey, Addy! How you doing?' Riley's voice was warm, a little rushed. 'I just wanted to let you know there's a vacancy at the company I work.They're desperate for nurses. Are you free to come for an interview later today?'
Ade's heart skipped. She almost shouted into the phone. 'Of course I'm free! Please, I'm free—don't let them give that spot away. I'll come as soon as I'm done here!'
Riley laughed knowingly. 'Obviously. I know you. You've been jobless too long, that's why I went ahead and put your name on the list. The least you can do is show up and crush this interview.'
They both laughed for a while, the sound easing Addys nerves. Then Riley's tone shifted, half-joking but serious underneath.
"Okay, now that you've got this interview, I hope you come early. Try and be punctual."
Addy grinned at her reflection in the mirror and replied in that playful tone every Nigerian would recognize:
"Of course! Nothing fit make me miss this one. Me? Miss interview? Never!"
They both burst into laughter again before Riley finally ended the call.
Addy set her phone down and turned back to the mirror. For a moment she just stared at herself—wide-eyed, hopeful—then let out a scream that bounced off the bathroom tiles.
"Yes! Finally! An opportunity for a good job in this country. God knows I've suffered enough
Then she cursed under her breath.
"Shit! I didn't even ask her what time. I didn't even ask her where. I don't even know the venue for this interview! God, Addy, you need to be more focused. You need this job. You've been jobless for too long."
She scolded herself in the mirror, frustration written all over her face.
Just then, her phone buzzed again. A text—an old-fashioned S-I-M message from Riley. The address, the time, the place of the interview… everything she had forgotten to ask about.
Addy let out a long sigh of relief before breaking into a smile.
"She knows me too well."
Once she had the address, Ade rushed out of the bathroom. She finished her business quickly and hurried into the kitchen. Her stomach had been grumbling all morning, demanding something to fill it. She threw together a quick meal and ate just enough to silence the hunger.
Only then did she head to the bathroom again, this time for a proper bath, letting the water wash away the nerves that still clung to her.
She chose a simple outfit—a skirt and blouse that gave off a cooperative, professional look. Standing in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair back into a loose ponytail. Her makeup was light: a soft blush, her favorite lip combo, a touch on her lashes, and neatly edged hair.
When she looked at her reflection, she allowed herself a little dramatic turn, studying her figure.
Yeah, she thought with a smirk, I do have a nice shape.
She fastened her jewelry, small pieces that caught the light just enough. Satisfied, she gave her room a quick once-over to be sure everything was in order, then grabbed her bag.
On her way out, she kept checking the time, silently praying she wouldn't miss the afternoon bus. Not today. Not for this interview.
If she had to run barefoot, she wasn't going to miss this interview. Luckily, she caught the bus just in time. Breathless from her short sprint, she sank into a seat, pulling herself together after the rush.
Beside her sat a tired-looking woman with a restless child. The little one cried, drooled, and squirmed constantly, reaching for everything within sight. Ade, being her usual cheerful self, leaned over and greeted politely.**
"Good afternoon, ma'am."
The woman gave her a weary smile. "How are you, my dear?"
"I'm fine, ma'am," Ade replied.
Just then, the child stretched out a tiny hand toward her hair. With one sharp tug, the band holding her ponytail snapped loose. Her carefully brushed and edged hair flew everywhere in seconds—hours of work undone in one playful grab.
The woman gasped, mortified. "Oh! I'm so sorry, please forgive her—"
Ade only smiled, adjusting the loose strands with her fingers. "It's fine. She's just a baby."
She stayed positive, even as the child giggled at the chaos she had caused.
After all the chaos, the bus finally reached my stop. I got down, clutching the paper where Riley had written the address, double-checking every street sign to make sure I was in the right place.
While scanning around, my eyes caught sight of Riley in the distance. Instinctively, I smiled and waved. She noticed me immediately, beaming back as she hurried over.
When she reached me, she grabbed me in a quick hug. "Oh, you're early! So you actually listened when I told you to be punctual."
I laughed softly, lowering my head in mock shyness. "Yes, I listened.
She was dressed professionally, in tailored trousers and a crisp blouse. Her hair was neatly parted and pulled back into a sleek high ponytail, completing the look.
I thought to myself how neat and properly dressed she looked. She just chuckled at me and said, "How are you doing? Let's go in. I'll introduce you to the general manager in my department as we walk."
Since the bus had dropped me off a bit far from the main building, we had some distance to cover. As we made our way toward it, I felt a wave of anxiety and nervousness. Then, on my right, I noticed Bootley—a massive, towering building with LN Bootley boldly written across it.
The sight made me even more nervous; the place seemed intimidating, the kind where only high-class people worked. But I pushed that feeling aside. As long as Riley was with me, I knew I had nothing to fear.
We finally approached the main entrance, glass doors stretching tall, reflecting the sunlight in a way that almost blinded me. People in sleek suits and polished shoes walked in and out with such confidence, as if they belonged to a world I wasn't entirely sure I fit into.
Riley glanced at me and smiled, as though she could read the nervousness written all over my face. "Relax," she said softly. "Just follow my lead."
We walked through the lobby, and I couldn't help but admire how elegant it was—marble floors, chandeliers hanging from above, and a faint scent of lavender filling the air. Every detail spoke of class and precision.
"Good morning, Miss Riley," one of the receptionists greeted warmly, her eyes quickly shifting to me, curious but polite. Riley gave a nod, then turned slightly toward me.
"This is my friend," she said with a tone of assurance, "she's here with me today."
I managed a small smile and nodded, my heart still beating faster than usual. As we stepped into the elevator, Riley pressed the button for the twelfth floor. I took a deep breath, knowing we were getting closer to meeting the general manager.
The elevator chimed softly and the doors opened to a wide corridor lined with glass walls. Inside the offices, I caught glimpses of people working, typing quickly, or discussing in groups, their voices muffled but purposeful. Everything here felt like it moved at a faster pace than I was used to.
Riley led me down the hallway with such ease, her heels clicking against the polished floor. I followed closely, trying not to let my nerves show.
We stopped in front of a large frosted-glass door that had a silver nameplate: Mr. Adrian Cole – General Manager. My stomach tightened. This was it.
Riley turned to me, giving a reassuring smile. "He's strict, but fair," she whispered. "Don't worry, just be yourself."
Before I could say anything, she knocked lightly and pushed the door open.
The office was spacious, with tall shelves filled with books and files, a large wooden desk at the center, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Behind the desk sat a man in his early fifties, sharp-eyed, with neatly combed silver hair and a presence that commanded respect without a single word.
Riley stepped forward confidently. "Good morning, Mr. Cole. I'd like you to meet someone." She gestured toward me.
His eyes shifted to me, studying me carefully in silence, as if trying to read more than just my face. I swallowed, forcing a polite smile.
"Good morning, sir," I managed, my voice steadier than I expected.
He leaned back slightly, clasping his hands. "So," he said after a pause, "you're the one Riley has been telling me I laughed nervously. "Yes, sir. I'm the one. My name is Addy." We exchanged a firm handshake, his grip steady and measured.
"Okay, Addy," Mr. Cole said, studying me briefly. "You're here for the position of assistant nurse in this department, correct?"
"Yes, sir," I replied quickly, trying to sound confident. "I'm here for the job, yes."
He gave a small nod. "Well, I won't be the one to appoint you. There's an interview panel currently sitting, and I'll be directing you to them. Riley has spoken very highly of you. In fact"—he glanced at her—"she was the one who insisted we give you this opportunity. I hope you won't disappoint me."
I felt cold sweat forming at the back of my neck, but I forced a smile. "No, sir. I won't disappoint."
"Good," he said simply, then excused himself.
Riley placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, leaning close. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. Just be confident and answer honestly." She gave me one last encouraging smile before heading back toward her department.
I was left with Mr. Cole, a tall man with a calm demeanor who seemed to be waiting patiently by the door. He gestured for me to follow. "This way, please."
My heart thudded as we walked down another corridor, the sound of my footsteps echoing faintly against the marble floor. Each step seemed heavier than the last, knowing the interview was just moments away.
Finally, we stopped in front of a conference room with double glass doors. Through the transparent panels, I could see a long table, three people seated behind it with papers in front of them. Their expressions looked serious, and I swallowed hard.
Mr.cole opened the door and motioned me inside. "Here she is."
All eyes turned to me as I stepped in, trying to steady my breathing.
The kind Ms. Cole, one of the interviewers, offered me a gentle smile and directed me to a chair. I sat down, noticing several others waiting in line—some standing nervously, others seated with stiff postures, eyes glued to the floor or to the walls as though their thoughts were running wild.
The waiting felt endless. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. My mind wandered, but I kept convincing myself there was still plenty of time. I didn't realize how quickly the clock had been moving until the words I'd been dreading pierced through the room.
"Ms. Addy, you're next. We'll be waiting for you."
My heart dropped.
I stood up quickly, smoothing the front of my corporate outfit to make sure it looked presentable. I brushed a hand lightly through my hair, straightening it as best I could, and adjusted my posture. With one deep breath, I forced myself to appear calm even though inside, my stomach was twisting.
Then, with careful steps, I walked into the office.
The room was bright but heavy with silence. Three interviewers sat behind a long polished table, papers neatly stacked in front of them. Their eyes followed me as I entered, and I felt the weight of their gaze pressing on me.
"Please, have a seat," one of them said, motioning to the chair directly across from them.
I nodded, my palms slightly damp, and lowered myself into the chair. TOn my way into the hall, I realized how vast the space was. The interview panel sat at one end, their seats raised slightly, separated from where the candidates were meant to sit. Five figures occupied the table—two on the right, two on the left, and one directly in the middle.
The two on the right carried a certain warmth in their expressions, a friendly aura that seemed to ease the air around them. In contrast, the two on the left looked disinterested, almost bored, as though they were counting the minutes until all this was over.
But the one in the middle… something about him unsettled me. Maybe it was the faint scar across his jawline, or the way his sharp eyes never blinked as they scanned me. He radiated a strange authority, and for a moment I felt as if danger itself sat in that chair.
I shook the thought away quickly and forced myself to focus. This was not the time to let my imagination run wild.
Stepping forward, I cleared my throat softly and introduced myself. "Good day, everyone. My name is Abby James, and I'm here for the interview for the Assistant Nursing position."
They all nodded slightly in acknowledgement, their expressions giving little away.
The man in the middle leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. His voice was calm, but it carried a weight that drew every ounce of my attention.
"Alright, Ms. James," he said slowly, "we'll begin."
he interview was about to begin.
I don't know if it was just my imagination, but when the man in the middle finally spoke, I felt something unsettling. His presence seemed to darken the air around me, and for a fleeting second, I thought his eyes glowed—crimson red, sharp, piercing. My chest tightened, but I brushed the thought away. I couldn't afford distractions now.
The questions began smoothly.
"What school did you graduate from?"
"How old are you?"
"What are your intentions in this role?"
"What can you bring if you join us?"
"What change or impact would you make if hired?"
I answered each one calmly, choosing my words with care. I kept my tone professional but honest, letting them see not only my qualifications but my sincerity. A few of them nodded as I spoke, while others scribbled on their papers, marking or writing brief notes.
When I finished, a hush lingered in the hall. Then, one of the interviewers on the left—one of the bored-looking ones—suddenly straightened and leaned forward. His voice carried more weight than I expected.
"Why nursing?" he asked bluntly. "Why did you choose to study this? And tell me, why should we hire you? What makes you different from the rest of the people we've interviewed today?"
The room went still again. I inhaled deeply, steadying myself. This wasn't just a question—it was the kind that peeled away the polished answers and demanded the truth.
I lifted my eyes to meet theirs and spoke, slowly but diligently. "Nursing, for me, has always been more than a profession. It is a calling…
I took a slow breath before speaking. "I enjoy being a nurse. It gives me purpose—knowing that, in my own little way, I can save lives. Even if I'm not changing the entire world, I'm still making an impact, one person at a time. That means something to me."
I paused, gathering my thoughts. "Of course, it also provides me with a living—I can feed myself, sustain myself—but what drives me is the fact that my work touches people directly. I get to help, to comfort, to make a difference when it matters most. That, to me, is worth more than anything."
When I finished, the room was quiet for a moment. One of the friendlier interviewers on the right gave a small nod, her lips curving into what looked almost like a smile. The two on the left exchanged quick glances, scribbling something down on their sheets.
But my eyes, almost unwillingly, drifted back to the man in the middle. He hadn't written a single word. He hadn't even moved since I'd walked in. He was still watching me, his hands folded neatly on the table, his gaze unwavering. For a moment, I swore that strange crimson glow flickered again in his eyes.
"Interesting answer," he said at last, his voice low and steady. "Purpose and survival. A balance between service and necessity." He leaned back slightly, his chair creaking in the silence. "But let's see… if purpose is what drives you, how far would you go to protect it?"
His question wasn't written on any sheet. It wasn't like the others. It felt personal. It felt… testing.
His words cut deeper than I expected. "How far would you go to protect it?"
For a moment, I froze. That wasn't the kind of question I had prepared for. It wasn't about credentials or skills; it was about something else entirely, something that seemed to go beyond the interview itself.
I swallowed and tried to steady my breathing. "Sir," I began carefully, "I believe nursing is not just about knowledge—it's about resilience and sacrifice. If protecting my purpose means standing firm, even when it's difficult, then I would. Because once you lose your sense of purpose, you lose the reason you're here at all."
The room went silent. The two interviewers on the right exchanged another approving glance, while one of the left gave a faint sigh, as if tired of the weight of it all.
The man in the middle, however, tilted his head slightly. That faint crimson flicker in his eyes lingered for a second longer, enough to send a shiver through me. His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, though it wasn't one of warmth—it was one of curiosity.
"Noted," he said at last, his voice calm, yet heavy. He wrote something slowly on the paper in front of him for the very first time since I'd entered the hall.
The woman on the right cleared her throat and broke the tension. "Thank you, Ms. James. That will be all for now. Please wait outside while we deliberate."
I stood, trying not to let my legs tremble, and gave a polite nod. "Thank you," I said softly, before turning to leave.
As I stepped out of the hall, my chest rose and fell rapidly. My palms were still damp. I had answered honestly, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the interview had been more than just a test of skill—it felt like something, or someone, had been measuring me in a way I didn't fully understand.
Outside the hall, the waiting area was quieter than before. A few candidates still sat in line, flipping nervously through their files or whispering short prayers under their breath. I sank into an empty seat, my body stiff from holding in so much tension.
The words from the man in the middle echoed in my head. "How far would you go to protect it?" It wasn't a normal interview question—it felt almost like a challenge. I rubbed my palms together, still clammy, and tried to convince myself it was just my nerves playing tricks on me.
Minutes stretched on. Every time the door creaked open, I felt my heart jolt, expecting someone to call my name again—maybe to ask another question, maybe to dismiss me entirely.
Finally, the door opened wider, and Mr. Andrew stepped out. His expression was neutral, hard to read. He scanned the waiting area until his eyes fell on me.
"Ms. James," he said firmly, "the panel has finished their deliberation. Please, follow me."
My stomach tightened, but I stood up quickly, smoothing my clothes one last time. As I followed him down the corridor, each step echoed louder than the last, like a drumbeat to whatever fate awaited me.
We stopped at a smaller office this time. Mr. Andrew opened the door and gestured for me to enter. Inside, only two people sat waiting—the warm-faced woman from the right side of the panel, and… him. The man from the middle. His eyes locked on me the moment I stepped in, and once again, I thought I saw that faint, crimson flicker.
"Sit down, Ms. James," the woman said kindly.
I obeyed, my pulse racing. The man remained silent for a long moment, studying me, as though he were peeling back layers I didn't even know I had. Then, finally, he spoke.
"You did well," he said simply. His voice was steady, but something about the way he said it sent another shiver through me.
The woman beside him nodded. "The panel is in agreement. We're offering you the position of Assistant Nurse." She smiled warmly. "Congratulations."
My heart leapt with relief. "Thank you—thank you so much," I managed, almost breathless.
But the man in the middle leaned forward just slightly, his crimson-tinged gaze holding mine. "Just remember, Ms. James…" His voice dropped lower, almost like a warning. "…purpose always comes with a price."
I was a little shocked, even shaken, by what he said. But I only managed a small nod in response, not trusting myself to speak further.
The lady beside him—gentle, professional—slid a folder across the desk toward me. "Here is your schedule. You are to report here at 8 a.m. sharp on Monday morning. That will be your official first day."
I accepted the folder with both hands, my heart still pounding.
She continued, "Inside, you'll find a checklist. Make sure everything is in order before then—your scrubs, your locker arrangements, your cupboard space, and other essentials. I've also included a slip that outlines items you may or may not need. Go through it carefully."
I glanced at the neat paper inside the folder: a list of uniforms, supplies, and personal items every nurse was expected to have. It all felt so real now—this wasn't just a hope anymore, it was happening.
I looked back up and gave a polite nod. "Yes, ma'am. I'll make sure everything is in order before Monday."
"Good," she said kindly. "That will be all for today. You're dismissed."
I stood, my legs still tingling with nervous energy. As I turned to leave, I felt once more the heavy silence of the man in the middle, his presence clinging to the air like a shadow. I didn't dare meet his eyes this time.
Clutching the folder tightly to my chest, I stepped out of the office and exhaled, as though I had been holding my breath the entire time.
Riley was waiting for me near the reception area, her face lighting up the moment she saw me. "So? How did it go?"
I let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding me. "I got it. Riley, I actually got it."
She squealed softly and pulled me into a quick hug. "I told you! I knew you could do it. See? All that worrying was for nothing."
I hugged her back, but my smile wavered. I didn't tell her about the strange feeling I had in that hall, about the man with the crimson glow in his eyes, or the weight of his words. Instead, I just nodded and tried to focus on the victory