Coffee scorched my fingers through the thin cardboard cup, but even that discomfort couldn’t drown out the flutter inside me.
“Masha, I’ve decided. Tomorrow I’m filing to register as a sole proprietor,” I leaned forward across the table toward my friend. “I’m going to help small businesses with financial planning.”
Masha nearly choked on her cappuccino and let out a mocking laugh.
“Are you serious, Lera?” She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Playing your fantasies again, like when we were kids with dolls?”
“It’s not a fantasy,” my voice stayed steady, though a little tense. “I have a clear business plan—”
“And who’s going to trust you?” she cut in, lounging back in her chair. “You can barely make it to payday yourself. Consult whom, exactly?”
My cheeks burned traitorously.
“I’ve studied a lot, taken courses—”
“Courses!” She rolled her eyes theatrically. “Lera, face reality. You’re just a bank clerk, and at the very bottom rung. What kind of expert are you?”
“Working at the bank taught me how to spot entrepreneurs’ mistakes,” I said more quietly, though there was still a challenge in my tone.
“Sure it did,” she drawled with a smirk. “You’re afraid to take out a loan even for a car, yet you’ll teach others how to manage money?”
Something inside me snapped. She was right: I really was afraid of loans. But did that make me a poor specialist? Quite the opposite.
“You know what,” I slowly pushed my coffee aside, “I don’t need your support. I’ll succeed on my own. I’ll even head a bank someday.”
“Oh‑ho‑ho!” She laughed again. “Lerochka, I’m just worried about you. Don’t waste time on these silly dreams.”
We parted coldly. After that, the calls stopped.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Years passed. I opened my own consultancy. It was hard, but clients arrived—then referrals, then early successes.
After three years I already had a team of five. After five, our company was well‑known among the city’s entrepreneurs.
Ten years later I was offered the top post at the very bank where I’d once started as a junior employee.
I earned that position solely on my skills. I sold the company and began a new chapter.
One autumn morning I was reviewing papers when my secretary brought in a folder of applications. Sometimes I liked to look them over myself, though I didn’t have to.
“Valeriya Andreevna, we have a large‑loan request from LLC ‘MariArt.’ Their credit history is shaky, but they insist on a meeting with management.”
I opened the folder—and froze. Maria Baranova, CEO. The very Masha who’d once laughed at me.
I skimmed the documents: event‑planning firm, three years in business, two rejections from other banks, current payment delinquencies.
“When is she scheduled?”
“In an hour,” the secretary said.
“All right. I’ll see her personally.”
Exactly on time the door opened. Masha had scarcely changed, except for a few faint lines around her eyes.
She walked in confidently with a business folder, but halted mid‑step when she saw me.
“Lera?!”
“Hello, Masha,” I said, gesturing to the chair. “It’s been a while…”
“So you’re the director here now?” She sank awkwardly into the seat, smoothing her hair.
“Yes. I oversee all the bank’s branches in the city,” I replied calmly. “I’ve already reviewed your application.”
“And? What do you say?” Hope flickered in her voice. “I really need this money, Ler… Valeriya Andreevna. The business is seasonal, complicated…”
I opened the folder.
“Unfortunately, your credit history and financials don’t allow us to approve the loan.”
“But we…” She faltered. “Lera, maybe make an exception? We know each other…”
I looked up.
“Masha, you’ll recall I once ‘played at business’ too. But this game has rules—even for old friends.”
She paled.
“And it seems your game in business is ending,” I said quietly but firmly, signing the final page.
Masha stared at me, blinking rapidly.
“You know,” my tone softened, “if you like, I can recommend a good financial consultant. He can help sort things out for another try.”
“Thanks—no,” she said abruptly, standing. “Sorry to bother you.”
“All the best,” I handed her the folder. “And, Masha… it’s never too late to start over.”
When the door closed behind her, I walked to the window.
Ten years ago her words had wounded me deeply. Today they were part of my success story.