“I need company for a party. Will you come with me?” Laseo asked the janitor, and what he did left her speechless.

The sound of the mop against the marble echoed through the empty hallway of the corporate building as Alejandra Mendoza emerged from her office. It was 10 p.m., and the automatic lights flickered on as she passed, casting long shadows on the glass walls.

“Excuse me, could you clean my office later?” she asked the man in green overalls who worked near the elevator.

Diego Ramírez looked up in surprise. In three years of cleaning this building, the CEO of Mentec had never spoken to him directly. “Of course, Ms. Mendoza, how late are you going to work?” Alejandra stopped. Something about his accent made her pause. He wasn’t Mexican. “Where are you from?” “Colombia, Ms. Bogotá.”

There was an awkward silence. Diego wondered if he had said something wrong. In Mexico, he had learned that it was best to keep his past to himself. Silence.

“I’m from Caracas,” Alejandra murmured, more to herself than to him.

Well, she was from Caracas.
The confession surprised them both.
Diego nodded understandingly.
He knew how to recognize someone who had left everything behind.
“How long have you been here?” he asked, leaning on the mop handle.

Seven years.
“I arrived in 2018 when everything became impossible.”
“We arrived four years ago, my daughter and I.”

Alejandra studied him for the first time.
He really was about 45 years old.
Slightly graying hair.
Hands that seemed to have known other kinds of work before holding cleaning tools.

“What did you do in Colombia?” Diego hesitated.
This conversation had already gone too far.
“I worked at a university, in telecommunications.”
The answer hit Alejandra like a punch.
This man had been a university professor and now he was cleaning floors.
Her own story of loss and rebuilding felt less unique, less Special.

“Professor, I was a professor.”

“Yes, now I’m a janitor.”

“Things change.” The wounded pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Alejandra recognized that tone because she had used it herself too many times.

“Yes, they change,” she murmured.

“I had a pharmaceutical company in Caracas.”

“It was part of the family business.”

“And now you have a tech mindset?”

“Now I have a tech mindset,” he confirmed, but his voice sounded tired.
“I started over, completely over.”

Diego noticed something in her posture, a loneliness he immediately recognized.

It was the same loneliness he carried every day.
“It’s too late to be working,” he remarked.

“I have an important dinner tomorrow.”
“Investors.”
“It could secure the company’s future.”

“You must be excited.”

Alejandra let out a bitter laugh.
“I should be, but I’m going alone.”

“Again.” The words escaped her before she could stop them.
Diego felt uncomfortable with the sudden intimacy of the Confession.

She probably has a lot of friends.

Friends.

Alejandra shook her head.

In this world, when you’re a woman and Venezuelan, you have business partners, competitors, and acquaintances, not friends.

Silence fell between them.

Diego resumed his work, but more slowly, as if he didn’t want the conversation to end.

Roberto, my business partner, always goes with his wife.

Patricia Guzmán, the main investor, always asks about my date, as if a woman couldn’t exist professionally without a man by her side.

It’s ridiculous.

It’s the reality.

Alejandra sighed.

I need someone to go to a party with.

Will you come with me?

The words came out so fast that they both froze.
Diego dropped the mop, the metallic sound echoing in the empty hallway.

Sorry, no, forget it.

Alejandra turned away, mortified.

That was crazy.

I don’t know why I said that.

Mrs. Mendoza, Wait.
She stopped without turning around.
I can’t, my daughter.
My responsibilities.
I’d pay you.
Fine.
The word “pay” hung in the air like a slap.