Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Maya's temple, tracing a path along her cheek. She was tapping her foot, a rapid, almost frantic rhythm against the metal floor. The air inside the elevator seemed to be getting thicker, harder to breathe. She kept checking her watch, each tick of the second hand a tiny hammer blow against her patience.

"Don't worry," her coworker, David, said, his voice a low rumble. "They'll get us out." Maya didn't reply, didn't even acknowledge his words. Her focus was entirely consumed by the mounting pressure, the feeling of being trapped.

Her promotion interview was scheduled for the afternoon. She had rehearsed for weeks, anticipating every question. Now, all her preparation felt like dust, blown away by the current of sheer, unadulterated tension. The opportunity was slipping through her fingers.