The next morning, the memory of the desert and the famous Egyptian god was far from her mind. Anaïs had never been one to remember her dreams for long, no matter how vivid and detailed they might be. Stretching under her blanket, she observed the light filtering through the broken skylight of her small window. Instantly, she felt herself becoming grumpy. There was no doubt about the weather today, despite the limited information her view outside provided: the sky was gray and promised a torrent of rain.

Like yesterday and the day before and the day before that... she thought, smiling sadly. I miss my vacation. I miss Egypt. Its warm wind, its omnipresent sun, its endless dunes...

Her smile abruptly faded as a flash of memory invaded her mind. A gray desert... It was a landscape she hadn't had the chance to admire during her vacation, so... where were these images coming from?

Never mind, she decided, once again burying these strange memories deep in her mind.

This morning, she had to go to her new job's agency. Of course, she wasn't feeling very enthusiastic. However, she wasn't particularly stressed either. To feel that way, she would have to care about the consequences if her first day went poorly. That wasn't her style.

I'm going to clean offices and toilets, it's not like the world's fate rests on my shoulders. That's something that will never happen to someone like me!

She sighed at the thought of cleaning up other people's messes. She already had a hard time keeping her small studio clean, which was also quite unpleasant, but if she didn't want to be kicked out of her apartment for unpaid rent, she didn't have much choice. Correction: she no longer had much choice.

If Mom and Dad knew how I squandered the money they left me, they'd probably turn in their graves...

As usual, she poured herself a bowl of cereal – milk last – and noisily enjoyed it while watching her small television perched on her desk. She didn't have much furniture, as the size of her tiny studio didn't allow it. The living area consisted mainly of a single bed, a coffee table doubling as a dining table, a pouf serving as a chair, and a desk with a wooden chair. In the two small square meters that remained, she had managed to place a low-end wardrobe accompanied by a few plastic bins serving as a makeshift closet for the rest of her clothes. The kitchen, open to the living room, consisted of a small kitchenette with a sink, a tiny stove, a mini-fridge, and two wall-mounted cabinets. The apartment also offered a small bathroom with the basics: toilet, shower, and sink. Suffice it to say, she didn't particularly love her living conditions – everything was designed to be practical, not comfortable – but the apartment was still her little home.

If I can manage to pay my rent, she reminded herself.

Which was no small feat.

When her cereal bowl was empty and the dish joined the pile of dirty plates in the sink, Anaïs hurried to the bathroom to get ready. As usual, she spent most of her twenty minutes of preparation scrutinizing herself from every angle. Her medium-length brown hair reached her shoulders – she would need to cut it soon – her green eyes had lost the joyful sparkle infused by her vacation – a harsh return to reality – her features were tired from her early wake-up and restless night, and her skin, tanned by the Egyptian sun, was starting to pale, revealing her usual porcelain complexion in two to three weeks. Her full lips gave her a sardonic smile in the mirror. She loved seeing her skin bronzed by the sun's rays: she found herself much prettier and her aura more... vibrant.

An hour after waking up, Anaïs was finally ready to leave her apartment. Only one thing remained: to place her centerpiece around her neck. Her hand glided over the necklace she kept carefully in her desk drawer and fastened it around her neck with delicacy. It was a souvenir from Egypt, the only material gift she had allowed herself during her trip. The jewelry consisted of a thin gold chain and an ankh, the Egyptian cross of life, two centimeters long in the same material. It was discreet and perfectly nestled in the hollow at the base of her neck. She had gotten it for a song at the Cairo souk, the vendor was eager to get rid of it due to some absurd superstitions.

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Even more absurd when you know that ankhs are just a hieroglyph meaning "to live" or "life"... What could be obscure about that?

Anaïs took one last look at herself in the large mirror covering her front door and left the tranquility of her apartment.

* * *

Ten o'clock in the morning.

For the past three hours, her supervisor, Mr. Bayou, had been explaining her schedule, route, necessary tools for the job, and all the safety rules governing the work of a cleaner, all while walking her through the premises. Anaïs had been sitting in front of her boss's desk for thirty minutes now, fiercely fighting off yawns of boredom that threatened to unhinge her jaw. Mr. Bayou, a short man of about five feet five inches, chubby with graying hair, spoke enthusiastically, punctuating each sentence with broad hand gestures. Usually, the fifty-something's enthusiasm might have infected Anaïs, but she was far too tense for that.

At least she needed to make a good impression until she signed the contract.

The paper was soon placed in front of her eyes. She quickly scanned it, finding the same information her supervisor had shared earlier. Hearing it hadn't triggered any reaction in her, but now that she was about to sign the paper, she felt a surge of panic. Concealing her apprehension, she slowed her reading to buy time to compose herself.

The prospect of working nights – early in the morning or late in the evening – suddenly seemed far less manageable and insignificant than she had imagined before. All this for a pittance of a salary. Did she have a choice? No. At least she found some comfort in the idea that she would work alone and independently, and wouldn't encounter anyone in the offices at those hours.

Hooray, she thought, exhaling before picking up the pen Mr. Bayou had lent her. Goodbye vacations and free time, hello real and boring world.

Her hand nervously grasped the ankh of her necklace, fiddling with it mechanically. The object emitted a gentle warmth; it was comforting. The time it took for the pen's tip to land on the paper felt like an eternity as if the scene was unfolding in slow motion. She felt as if she was selling her soul. No, worse, practically giving it away. The sound of the pen scratching the paper made her grit her teeth. She could almost hear the sound of death bells, in a contemporary, capitalist version.

Some might say she was exaggerating and that it wasn't worth making such a fuss over something so minor. After all, everyone had to work, and most people managed to deal with it. Nevertheless, for Anaïs, this entry into professional life felt like the death of an era and the disappearance of an Anaïs who had aspired to follow her dreams. She, who had always dreamed of travel, freedom, inspiration, and free will, found herself violently thrust into the life of an average adult: work, pay bills, get exploited, and give up the life she had imagined as a child. Maybe this was what it meant to become an adult: to crush your childhood ambitions and to live a flavorless life, without choice, subjected to society's rules to survive. A very pessimistic view.

No, Anaïs was definitely not one of those who had mapped out their career paths even before graduating high school, excited at the prospect of working in a field they believed would "fulfill" them.

That doesn’t change the fact that they don’t have a choice: they have to work. They just choose what will make their work less painful.

There. The contract was signed.

"Welcome to Cleanax," Mr. Bayou officially greeted her, enthusiastically. "Here is your badge."

He handed her the plastic identification, which she quickly stuffed into her handbag.

"Marie-Thérèse!" he shouted toward the next room.

A woman in her sixties poked her head through the door, an annoyed expression on her face as she waited impatiently for Mr. Bayou to state the reason for his call. The middle-aged man turned his attention back to Anaïs.

"This is Marie-Thérèse. You’ll report to her office this evening before heading to your worksite for your first shift."

Marie-Thérèse seemed to become aware of the young woman’s presence and smiled kindly at her.

"She will give you the keys to the offices you will be responsible for. Don’t forget to return them to her at the end of your shift," her supervisor continued.

"Okay, nice to meet you," Anaïs replied with a strained smile to the older woman.

Mr. Bayou clapped his hands together, satisfied, to conclude the exchange.

"Great, then everything is settled. See you at ten o'clock," he said, extending his small hand towards the young woman.

Anaïs thanked him, shook his hand, and left the Cleanax offices with a knot in her stomach. She still couldn't believe she had a job.

Well, now it’s official, I’m an adult. Damn it.