My Laptop Died Before a Job Interview — Then a Stranger Offered Me Her Car and Computer

The taxi's engine died in the middle of EDSA traffic, smoke curling from under the hood like my last shred of hope burning away. I was almost late for the biggest interview of my life. Sweat ran down my spine as I watched jeepneys after jeepneys pass, all crammed and speeding toward the direction I desperately needed to go.

"Madam, can you wait a while?" the driver said, wiping his forehead with a rag.

Wait? I wanted to scream. I'd been waiting for months—for a miracle, for a call-back, for a sign that my life hadn't gone completely off track.

My phone battery was blinking red. My laptop had died the night before. And now, even the taxi had given up on me.

Then... a soft voice behind me said, "Are you okay? You look like you could use a little help."

Seven months earlier, I lost my job. It happened so suddenly that I didn't even have time to process it. One morning, my manager called me into his office and handed me a letter, his face apologetic. "It's not personal, Isabel," he'd said, sliding the envelope across the table. "The company is restructuring."

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I remember staring at the paper as if the words would rearrange themselves into something less final. But they didn’t. It was over.

Losing that job cracked something inside me. I told myself it would only take a month or two to find another one. I had experience, good references, and faith.

But days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months of sending out applications that never got a reply.

I spent my mornings hunched over my old laptop, editing my CV and writing cover letters until my eyes ached. I applied to banks, NGOs, startups—anywhere that would take me. Most times, I didn't even get a "thank you for applying."

My savings started to disappear. Rent was due, bills piled up, and the pressure of survival began to feel like a noose around my neck. I sold my television first, then some of my clothes. The day I sold my microwave for half its worth, I cried quietly on the balcony, wondering if I was slowly selling away my dignity, too.

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Friends I used to hang out with stopped calling. Not because they were cruel, but because I had nothing new to say.

At night, I lay awake scrolling through job boards, reading about people who seemed to have their lives together while mine was falling apart. Sometimes, I'd find a role that felt perfect for me, only to see "minimum 5 years' experience" or "under 30 years old." I was 32, broke, and terrified.

By the sixth month, my confidence had withered. I began to question everything about myself—my skills, my purpose, even my worth as a person.

My mother called one evening, sensing my despair through the phone. "Isabel, God hasn't forgotten you," she said softly. "Delay is not denial."

I wanted to believe her, but faith felt like a luxury I couldn't afford anymore.

Then one Friday afternoon, just as I was about to shut down my dying laptop, an email notification popped up. It was from a firm in Makati that I had applied to weeks earlier—a consulting company with a good reputation.

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They wanted to schedule an interview for Monday morning.

I stared at the screen for a full minute before my brain caught up. I had finally gotten a chance. My heart raced with hope I hadn't felt in months.

I called my mother immediately. "Nanay, they called me!" I said, almost shouting. She prayed over the phone, thanking God as if the job were already mine. For the first time in a long while, I felt alive again.

I ironed my best outfit, printed fresh copies of my CV, and even rehearsed my answers in front of the mirror. I had one shot to change my life—and I wasn't going to waste it.

On Sunday night, I sat at my desk, determined to ensure everything was ready for the big day. I reviewed my notes, researched the company again, and rehearsed my introduction until I could say it without thinking. I wanted to sound confident, even though I was trembling inside.

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My old laptop was my only preparation tool. It had served me for nearly seven years—slow, noisy, and held together by pure faith and tape. But that night, as I tried to open my PowerPoint presentation, the screen flickered and went black.

"No, no, not now," I whispered, pressing the power button over and over. The laptop whirred weakly, the fan let out a tired sigh, and then… nothing—dead silence.

I froze, my palms suddenly sweaty.

I unplugged it, plugged it back, whispered a prayer, and even tapped the sides like some ritual would wake it. Nothing worked.

The clock read 10:47 p.m. I sat there, staring at the lifeless screen, feeling the panic rise inside my chest. The one tool I needed to prepare for my first real interview in months had let me down.

My neighbor, Miguel, must have heard me muttering because he knocked lightly on my door. "Isabel, everything alright?" I tried to sound calm. "My laptop just died. I have an interview tomorrow."

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He stepped inside, scratching his head. "Ah, that's bad. Maybe I can help?" He tried connecting it to his charger, but it didn't even blink. "This one is serious. You’ll need a technician."

"At this hour?" I laughed weakly. "Who's fixing laptops at 11 p.m.?"

He looked at me with sympathy and shrugged. "Then just sleep early and wake up strong. You can do it, even without slides."

I nodded anyway. "Thanks, Miguel."

After he left, I sat in the dark, clutching my dead laptop like it was a lost friend. All my notes, documents, and plans were inside it. I went to bed feeling like defeat had already arrived before morning.

When I woke up, Manila was cloudy—the kind of gray sky that mirrored my mood. I got dressed, looked at myself in the mirror and whispered, "You've survived worse. Just get there."

I left the house early, praying that at least the journey would go smoothly.

But Manila had other plans.

At the bus stop, the first jeepney was full. The second one broke down before we even moved. When I finally boarded another, traffic hit like a punishment. EDSA was a parking lot of honking cars and frustrated faces.

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I kept checking my phone: 8:30. 8:40. 8:50. My interview was scheduled for 10:00. The office was still a considerable distance away.

My heart pounded as I sent a text to the HR contact: "Good morning. I'm on my way but stuck in traffic. I sincerely apologize and will be there as soon as possible."

No reply.

By 9:05, the jeepney driver pulled over and announced, "The engine is hot. We need to stop a bit."

I couldn't believe it. "What?" I asked, standing up. "Ma’am, we cannot move like this? Let’s cool the engine."

Tears pricked my eyes. It felt like life was mocking me—one last cruel joke before I gave up for good.

I climbed down, clutching my file, and stood by the roadside as taxis sped past, most already full. My chest tightened. I was about to lose the one opportunity I had fought so hard for.

That was when the final blow came. My phone beeped—low battery. I had forgotten to charge it overnight.

By 9:15, it was dead.

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I stood there, stranded, jobless, and helpless, watching people rush to their own destinations while mine slipped away.

For a brief second, I thought about turning around and going home. Maybe this was a sign that it wasn't meant to be. Maybe I was chasing something the universe had already decided to deny me.

The traffic noise faded behind me. My heart felt numb. Then, from behind, a car slowed down and stopped near where I stood. A woman leaned out the window, her face calm but curious. "Are you okay?" she asked. "You look lost."

I blinked, unsure if she was talking to me. "I… I was supposed to be at an interview," I stammered. "But everything's gone wrong today."

She smiled gently. "Then maybe it's time something went right."

The woman parked her car by the side of the road and stepped out. She was in her late thirties, wearing a mustard dress and low-heeled shoes. Her hair was in neat braids, and she carried an aura of calm that contrasted sharply with the chaos around us.

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"I'm Rita," she said, extending her hand. "You look like you're having one of those mornings."

I managed a shaky smile. "That obvious?"

She laughed softly. "Let me guess—job interview?"

I nodded, surprised. "Yes. At BrightPoint Consulting, near Makati."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh, I know that place. I have a meeting around there, actually." She looked at me for a second, then gestured toward her car. "Come on. I can drop you off."

I hesitated. Accepting help from a stranger wasn’t something I usually did, but something in her voice made me trust her instantly. I opened the passenger door and got in.

The car smelled of vanilla and new leather. She turned up the AC slightly, then glanced at me. "You look like you've been through a storm this morning."

I exhaled. "My laptop died last night. Traffic is horrible. I'm late. Honestly, I'm just tired of everything going wrong."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I've had seasons like that. When everything seems to fall apart all at once. But you're still here—that counts for something."

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Her words sank deep into me. I didn’t even realize tears had gathered in my eyes until one slipped down my cheek. She passed me a tissue without saying anything else.

When we reached closer to Makati, I checked the time—9:20. I still had a few minutes to spare. Relief washed over me so suddenly that I almost laughed.

"Thank you," I said, my voice cracking. "You just saved my life."

She smiled. "Don't thank me yet. The café across the street opens early. Let's stop for a few minutes. You look like you could use coffee—and maybe Wi-Fi?"

I blinked at her, surprised again. "You'd really do that?"

"Why not?" she said simply. "I've been where you are."

We parked outside a cosy café. Inside, the smell of fresh pastries filled the air. Rita ordered two cappuccinos and asked the waiter for a table near an outlet.

When the drinks came, she opened her laptop and pushed it toward me. "Use mine," she said. "Go through your notes, check your slides—whatever you need."

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I hesitated, overwhelmed by her kindness. "You don't even know me."

She smiled knowingly. "Maybe not. But I know what it's like to almost give up."

I bit my lip, opened her laptop, and logged into my email to glance through the interview details again.

She sat across from me, quietly sipping her coffee as I worked. At one point, she looked up and said softly, "You know, Isabel, sometimes when doors close, it's not rejection—it's redirection. Maybe this job is where things begin to turn for you."

I didn't know how she knew my name until I realized it had popped up on one of my open tabs. We both laughed, the tension easing between us.

For the first time in months, I didn't feel alone.

When we finished, she insisted on paying for the coffee. As we walked back to her car, she said,

"Remember this—you’re not defined by the months that broke you. You’re defined by how you rise from them."

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Those words stayed with me. She dropped me at the front gate of BrightPoint Consulting at exactly 9:50. I thanked her repeatedly, but she just smiled and waved.

"Go get that job," she said, then drove off.

I stood there for a moment, heart pounding. The world felt different—lighter somehow. I straightened my blouse, took a deep breath, and walked into the building with a confidence I hadn't felt in months.

The receptionist at BrightPoint Consulting looked up as I entered, her smile professional and calm. "Good morning. You're here for the communications associate interview?"

"Yes," I said, trying to steady my voice. "Isabel Reyes."

She checked her list, nodded, and handed me a visitor badge. "You're right on time. Please have a seat. They'll call you in shortly."

Right on time. The words felt almost sacred. Just an hour earlier, I had been stranded on the roadside, thinking my life was falling apart. Now, here I was—still standing, still trying.

I took a deep breath and whispered a silent thank you for Rita.

When the HR assistant came to get me, my palms were damp, but I held my head high. "Good morning, Isabel," the woman in the middle said. "Please, tell us about yourself."

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That simple question opened a floodgate inside me. I spoke from my heart—about my experience, yes, but also about resilience, learning from setbacks, and finding strength in hard times. Every time I almost doubted myself, I heard Rita's calm voice in my head: You're not defined by the months that broke you.

The panelists nodded as I spoke. One of them smiled. The energy in the room shifted.

When it was over, the HR shook my hand.

"Thank you, Isabel. We'll be in touch soon."

I walked out feeling proud of myself. I didn't know whether I'd get the job, but for the first time, I felt I had done my very best—and that was enough.

That evening, I called my mother to tell her everything. She listened quietly, and when I finished, she said,

"See? God sent someone to help you. Angels don't always have wings, my daughter."

I smiled through tears. "You're right, Nanay."

The next morning, as I was cleaning my small kitchen, my phone buzzed. It was an email from BrightPoint Consulting. My hands shook as I opened it.

Dear Ms Reyes, We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the Communications Associate position. Your professionalism and perspective during the interview deeply impressed our team.

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I screamed. Not a polite scream—the full, high-pitched, uninhibited kind that comes from deep relief. Miguel came rushing from next door, thinking something was wrong. "They hired me!" I shouted, waving my phone in the air.

He laughed and hugged me. "Finally, the curse is over!"

I cried that morning—not from sadness, but from gratitude. I sent my mother a voice note, and she prayed again, her voice trembling with joy. After months of darkness, the light had finally found me.

That afternoon, I decided to thank Rita properly. But I realized I didn't even know her full name or where to find her. I had no number, no email, nothing. Just her kind face and her words echoing in my memory.

I went back to the café where we had stopped. The barista recognized me and smiled. "The woman you were with? She comes here often. She works at one of the offices nearby."

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I left a small thank-you note with my number and asked them to give it to her if she ever came again.

A week later, she texted me. Isabel, I heard the good news from the barista. Congratulations! I knew you'd get it.

I smiled at the screen for a long time before replying, "Thank you, Rita. You'll never know how much that morning meant to me."

She replied simply, "Just promise to do the same for someone else one day."

And I did. I promised.

Sometimes, life has a way of knocking you so hard that you forget what it feels like to stand tall. For months, I thought I was finished—another forgotten name in a pile of unanswered job applications. I had measured my worth by how many interviews I didn't get, how many bills I couldn't pay, and how many mornings I woke up with no reason to get dressed.

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But then, one small act of kindness changed everything.

Rita didn’t give me a job; she gave me something far greater—belief. She saw me when I felt invisible. She reminded me that goodness still exists in a world that can feel cruel and indifferent.

The truth is, we never know the battles people are fighting behind their polite smiles or quiet sighs at the bus stop. Sometimes, they just need someone to look their way and say, "You're going to be okay."

Since then, I've made it my quiet mission to be that person for someone else—to lend my time, my encouragement, or even my spare laptop to anyone who needs it. Because you never know how close someone is to giving up.

Looking back, I realize that the miracle wasn't just getting the job. The real miracle was rediscovering my faith in people—and in myself.

So I'll leave you with this question: When was the last time you lifted someone up, even in a small way? Because sometimes, one stranger's kindness can rewrite another person's story entirely.

This story is inspired by the real experiences of our readers. We believe that every story carries a lesson that can bring light to others. To protect everyone’s privacy, our editors may change names, locations, and certain details while keeping the heart of the story true. Images are for illustration only. If you’d like to share your own experience, please contact us via email.

Source: YEN.com.gh