Zhao Wei took a deep breath, clutching the letter in his large hands as if bracing himself for impact. He had been here before—too many times, really. The telltale tightness in his chest, the faint tremor in his fingers.
This was rejection deja vu.
He knew it was coming, but that didn't stop him from hoping, from wishing that this time—just this once—the universe would cut him some slack. He slowly unfolded the paper, eyes scanning the neat black print. His heart sank as he read the dreaded words:
"We regret to inform you..."
"Fuck!"
The curse escaped him before he could stop it, sharp and raw in the quiet of his cramped apartment. Frustration flared hot and fast. He crushed the letter into a tight ball, the paper crinkling loudly in protest, before launching it across the room. It hit the side of the garbage bin with a dull thud and rolled onto the floor, but he didn't care. His head fell into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp.
Forty-nine.
This was the forty-ninth rejection letter he had received in two years of relentless job hunting. Forty-nine "no"s from companies that didn't care how hard he had worked, how many hours he had poured into perfecting his skills, or how much he needed a break. He thought by now he would be numb to it, but nope—it still stung like hell.
He leaned back against the creaky chair, eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing. It wasn't like he'd expected to land a job easily. He knew better than that. He was a 6'4", broad-shouldered, heavyset guy with a face that could scare off the faint-hearted. Thick eyebrows, a square jaw, and eyes that always seemed to glare, even when he wasn't angry. He wasn't exactly interview material, or at least that's what most employers seemed to think.
"Can't judge a book by its cover, my ass," he muttered bitterly, running a hand through his short, dark hair.
He wasn't some thug off the street, despite what his appearance might suggest. Sure, he looked like he could bench press a small car, but he had worked his ass off to get where he was—or where he should have been. He'd spent years studying, earning his degree, juggling part-time jobs to keep himself afloat. But none of that seemed to matter when people took one look at his intimidating frame and decided he wasn't worth their time.
Standing up, he crossed the small living room in a few long strides and picked up the crumpled letter from the floor. He smoothed it out absentmindedly, staring at the words as if they might change if he glared hard enough. We regret to inform you that we have chosen another candidate.
Same old story.
Same old rejection.
He tossed the paper into the garbage bin again, this time making sure it stayed there. He let out a long sigh through his nose, his breath coming out in a sharp huff. "Fuck this," he muttered under his breath. He needed something to take the edge off, something to calm the storm brewing inside him. His hand instinctively reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the cluttered kitchen counter. He wasn't a heavy smoker—not really. Just a few here and there when things got too much to handle. And right now? Things were way past too much.
He plucked a cigarette from the pack, stuck it between his lips, and fumbled for his lighter. A flick of the thumb, a tiny flame appeared, and soon enough, he was taking a long drag. The nicotine hit his system, and for a brief moment, the tension in his shoulders eased.
But peace didn't last long.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"Shit!" Zhao Wei cursed, eyes snapping toward the ceiling as the smoke detector started blaring like an angry alarm clock. He yanked the cigarette from his mouth, nearly dropping it in the process. The shrill beeping echoed off the walls, grating on his already frayed nerves.
He jumped up, waving his hand furiously beneath the detector, trying to clear the smoke. "Alright, alright, I get it, shut up!" he growled, but the detector didn't care about his protests. The beeping continued relentlessly.
Groaning in frustration, he grabbed a dish towel and began fanning it toward the ceiling like a man trying to swat away an invisible swarm of bees. After a few tense moments, the infernal noise finally stopped.
He stood there, catching his breath, the half-burnt cigarette still pinched between his fingers.
Great.
Just great.
Now he couldn't even smoke in peace. He tossed the towel aside. "Guess it's the rooftop, then." He muttered under his breath. He snatched his coat from the chair, slipping it on with a grunt, and headed for the door.
As he stepped into the dimly lit hallway, he heard it again—the familiar sound of raised voices coming from the apartment across the hall. His new neighbors. They had moved in just last week, and if there was one thing he'd learned about them in that short time, it was that they couldn't go a day without a good old-fashioned screaming match.
"…I'm telling you, you don't listen!" a woman's voice yelled, sharp and exasperated.
"Me? What about you?" a man's voice shot back, equally loud.
Zhao Wei sighed, shaking his head as he made his way to the stairs. "At least they're better than the last ones," he muttered to himself. His previous neighbors had been… let's just say colorful. Constant parties, loud music at ungodly hours, and a distinct lack of boundaries. Compared to them, the new couple was tolerable. Sure, they argued a lot, but at least they kept their noise to shouting instead of blasting terrible music at two in the morning.
He reached the rooftop door, pushed it open, and stepped out into the chilly night air. The wind greeted him with an icy kiss, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself. The rooftop was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic below. The city stretched out before him, a sea of twinkling lights and towering buildings.
Zhao Wei took another cigarette from his pack, lit it, and took a slow drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the cold air. Up here, things felt… different. Calmer. The problems that weighed him down seemed a little smaller when he was looking out over the vast cityscape.
He leaned against the low wall surrounding the rooftop, eyes fixed on the horizon. Somewhere out there, people were living their lives—working, laughing, moving forward. Meanwhile, he was stuck in the same damn place, going nowhere fast.
The distant sound of sirens reached his ears, a familiar city soundtrack. He watched as red and blue lights flashed in the distance, wondering briefly what kind of trouble was brewing this time. It didn't matter. Trouble was always brewing somewhere.
Taking another drag, he let the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. He stayed like that for a while, just standing there, lost in thought. The cold didn't bother him much. He had gotten used to it over the years—cold nights, colder mornings, and a world that didn't care whether you succeeded or failed.
Eventually, the cigarette burned down to the filter, and he flicked it over the edge of the rooftop, watching as the tiny ember disappeared into the darkness below. He stuffed his hands back into his pockets, lingering for a moment longer before turning to head back inside.
As he descended the stairs, the arguing from across the hall had died down. Either they had made up or decided to call it a night. Either way, Zhao Wei was grateful for the silence. He reached his door, unlocked it, and stepped back into his apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
The rejection letter was still sitting in the garbage bin, crumpled and forgotten. Zhao Wei ignored it, heading straight for the couch. He flopped down onto the worn cushions, staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow was another day. Another round of job applications, another round of waiting, hoping, and probably getting disappointed.
But that was life, wasn't it? You kept going, kept pushing, even when the world seemed determined to knock you down.