The heat hit me like a physical wall, a blast of remembered childhoods and sun-scorched afternoons, the moment I stepped off the plane at Dubai International Airport. The air, thick and heavy, smelled of ozone, sand, and the faint, sweet scent of expensive perfume wafting from the duty-free shops. I was 21, an Indian girl born and raised in this city of glass and gold, and I was finally back after three long years in India earning my bachelor's in Business Administration. The journey had been a whirlwind of excitement and nervous energy, the anticipation a thrumming beat beneath my skin. Now, standing on the polished marble floors of the arrivals hall, the reality of my return began to settle in.

My degree was from a top university, my 9.7 CGPA a shield of accomplishment I held close. I had armed myself with certifications in digital marketing, convinced that these skills were the keys to unlocking the city's treasure chest. I was brimming with dreams of making it big, of carving out a space for myself in the very place where I'd grown up. This was my home, the glittering skyline a familiar backdrop to my earliest memories. How hard could it be to reclaim a piece of it for myself?