Gemotions

He adjusted his glasses, twice. Michael found himself excessively focused on the grain of the wooden table. The room was bland, the walls a depressing shade of beige, just like his chances. Across from him, Sarah was speaking eloquently, her words flowing effortlessly, painting a vivid picture of her experience.

He fiddled with his pen, clicking it repeatedly. Each click felt like a condemnation. The interviewer's eyes darted between him and Sarah. Michael felt a sudden urge to flee, to disappear into the anonymity of the hallway.

“And what about you, Michael?” The question snapped him back. He forced a smile, but it felt brittle, likely unnatural. He cleared his throat and started to ramble about his skills.