Gemotions

I felt a tremor run through me as I saw her enter the room. Sarah. We had been friends since kindergarten. Now, we were adversaries. The waiting room of the gallery was all cool marble and hushed whispers. I sat straight, trying to project an air of confidence that I did not possess.

The interview was for the gallery curator role, my dream job. I'd worked for years to get here. Sarah’s presence had turned what I'd thought was a sure thing into a desperate gamble.

Each rustle of paper, each cough, each footstep seemed amplified in my ears. I felt a sudden urge to flee, to disappear, to escape the suffocating weight of anticipation. I gripped my hands. The wait was torture.