Before the Interview

Ravi arrived twenty minutes early, which he knew was a mistake the moment he sat down. Now there was nothing to do but wait, and waiting was the part he had never learned to survive.

He was anxious in the specific way that had no cure — palms damp, heart quick, every ordinary sound in the office suddenly loud. The receptionist typed. A printer hummed. He tried to breathe slowly and failed.

To fill the time, he began to ponder the questions they might ask. Why this company? Where do you see yourself in five years? He rehearsed answers silently, then decided they all sounded rehearsed, which made him worse.

His phone was the obvious escape. He opened it to distract himself, scrolling headlines he would not remember, anything to pull his mind off the closed door and the clock above it.

What he truly craved, he realized, was not the job exactly, but the moment after — the walk to the bus, the interview finally behind him, the knot in his chest finally loose. He wanted the relief more than the offer.

The door opened. A woman with a warm, unhurried smile called his name, and to his surprise the dread that had filled the whole room simply evaporated. The waiting had been the enemy, not the interview.

He stood, shook her hand, and followed her in. Whatever happened next, at least the worst part — the ten minutes alone with his own racing mind — was over.