Gemotions

She squeezed her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms. The sheer enormity of the opportunity, the potential it held, felt overwhelming. The weight of her ambitions pressed down on her chest.

He hated this part. Waiting. It was torturous. He’d thought a brisk walk would calm his nerves, but his legs had felt like lead, each step a monumental effort. He kept imagining the interviewer’s face, the judging eyes.

The silence of the room was oppressive. It was punctuated by the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, each tick a reminder of the relentless passage of time. He felt himself bracing, ready for whatever awaited him behind that door.