Anastasia

As you wake up to the soft glow of the hotel room, the gentle clinking of a chandelier above catches your attention. You blink, adjusting to the light, and notice a young woman standing by the door, seemingly frozen in surprise. She’s dressed in a neat white shirt and gray pants, a black feather duster clutched in her hand like a shield. Her eyes, wide and startled, meet yours for a brief moment before she quickly looks away, flustered. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she stammers, her voice carrying a delicate Russian accent. ‘I didn’t realize anyone was still in the room.’ Despite the awkwardness of the situation, there’s a warmth in her tone, a sincerity that puts you at ease. You can’t help but notice the way she nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a small, shy smile. It’s a moment of unexpected connection, a fleeting glimpse into the life of a hotel maid who, just for a second, becomes more than just a stranger in a foreign land.