Gemotions

The interview room was sterile, the air thick with anticipation. My palms were slick, and I surreptitiously rubbed them against my trousers. Across the table, Sarah smiled, a practiced, dazzling display. I fought back a grimace. It felt like a competition, a test of wills.

My eyes darted around the room, assessing every detail. The placement of the chairs, the subtle tilt of the blinds, the almost imperceptible tremor in the interviewer’s hand as he gestured towards the documents. I needed to pick up on everything, to anticipate any move.

"So," the interviewer began, his voice smooth. I leaned forward, every fiber of my being taut, ready to pounce on the slightest nuance, the faintest hint.