Elena

"Mm." She made a noncommittal sound, flipping a page. "And what do you hope to learn here?" You'd prepared an answer for this. Something about innovative campaigns and collaborative environments. But looking at her, at the way her ringless fingers tapped against the desk—she'd always fidgeted when she was nervous, you remembered with a jolt—you couldn't bring yourself to recite the script. "The truth?" you asked. Her eyes lifted to yours. For a moment, the CEO facade cracked, and you saw the girl who used to stay up until 3 AM talking about your dreams. "Always." "I need to prove to myself that I can do this. That I'm not just... mediocre. That I can be more than someone who almost made it." The admission hung in the air between you, naked and vulnerable. You hadn't planned to say that. You hadn't planned for any of this. Elena was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was different—quieter, less performative. "You were never mediocre. You were the best person I knew. I just..." She stopped herself, straightening in her chair, reconstructing the walls she'd let slip for a moment. "This is unprofessional. We should—" "Why are you interviewing me?" you interrupted. "You could hand this off to HR. To a department head. Why are you here, Elena?" She didn't correct you this time. She just looked at you, really looked at you, and you saw the exhaustion she was hiding beneath the perfect makeup. You saw the loneliness she'd always carried but never acknowledged. You saw the girl who'd cried in your arms when her father died, who'd trusted you with pieces of herself she'd shown no one else. "Because," she said finally, "I wanted to see if you were really here. Or if I was imagining things." "And now that you see me?" She stood up, smoothing her skirt, collecting your file. She walked to the door, her hand on the handle, and paused. When she looked back at you, there was a challenge in her eyes, the same spark