The Interview Room

M Mehran

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Aiden stepped onto the thirty-second floor. His palms were clammy despite the cool air. The waiting area outside the office was sleek—white walls, glass panels, a view of the city skyline stretching endlessly.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes early. Perfect. He had rehearsed answers for every possible question: strengths, weaknesses, goals, achievements. He had even memorized a story about “a time he overcame a challenge.” Still, his chest thudded with nervous anticipation.

The receptionist, a cheerful woman with bright red glasses, offered a polite smile. “Mr. Cross? They’ll see you shortly. Just have a seat.”

Aiden nodded, sinking into the leather chair. His eyes drifted to the framed slogan on the wall: Our company doesn’t hire employees. We hire destinies. He swallowed hard.

A door opened. “Mr. Cross?”

A tall man in a dark suit gestured for him to enter. The room beyond was dim, the blinds drawn, the desk bare except for a single notebook. Three people sat across from him, their faces shadowed in the soft light.

“Please, sit,” the man said.

Aiden adjusted his tie and lowered himself into the chair. He forced a confident smile. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

The woman in the center leaned forward. Her voice was calm, deliberate. “We already know your qualifications, Mr. Cross. We’ve read your résumé, checked your references. What we want to know is… who you are.”

He blinked. “Who I am?”

“Yes,” she said. “Not the polished version. Not the rehearsed answers. The truth.”

He hesitated, unsure if it was a trick. “Well, I’m… ambitious. A team player. I value hard work—”

The man on the left raised a hand. “That’s the résumé talking. Try again.”

The room fell silent. Aiden felt his throat tighten. He thought of all the practice he had done, the hours of preparation. None of it mattered now.

“What do you want from me?” he asked cautiously.

“Your honesty,” the woman replied. “Tell us about a moment when you failed. Not the kind you spin into a learning opportunity. A real failure.”

Memories surged—ones he had buried deep. His failed startup. The friend he had betrayed in college. The letter he had never sent to his father before he passed. He opened his mouth, then closed it. No one wanted to hear that.

But their eyes stayed on him, patient, waiting.

Finally, his voice cracked. “I failed my father. He always believed in me, even when I didn’t. I… I never told him how much I admired him. And then it was too late.”

Silence pressed in. The woman’s eyes softened. “Thank you. Now we’re getting closer.”

The man on the right spoke for the first time, his voice low and steady. “What is it you’re most afraid of?”

Aiden’s first instinct was to say spiders, or public speaking—something safe. But the weight of the room demanded more.

“I’m afraid,” he whispered, “that I’ll live a life that doesn’t matter. That I’ll spend years chasing paychecks and titles, and one day realize I’ve left nothing behind.”

The three interviewers exchanged glances. The man in the center scribbled something in the notebook.

“And what,” the woman asked, “do you want to leave behind?”

Aiden’s chest tightened. He thought of the nights he spent sketching designs for inventions no one had ever seen. The notebooks full of ideas gathering dust under his bed. He had wanted to create something meaningful, but somewhere along the way, he had traded that dream for job security.

“I want to leave behind something that makes people’s lives better,” he said, his voice trembling. “Even if it’s small. Even if no one remembers my name. I just want it to matter.”

The silence that followed was different now. Not heavy—charged.

Finally, the woman closed the notebook. “That’s enough.”

The three rose simultaneously. The man in the suit extended a hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Cross. You’ve passed.”

Aiden blinked, stunned. “Passed? That’s… that’s the interview?”

“Yes,” the woman said. “We don’t hire skills, Mr. Cross. We hire truth. You’ll begin Monday.”

As they guided him toward the door, Aiden’s mind whirled. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved, terrified, or both. The world outside the office seemed sharper, more alive. For the first time in years, he felt seen—not for the polished mask he wore, but for the fragile, flawed human beneath it.

The elevator doors closed behind him, and he caught his reflection in the mirrored surface. His tie was crooked, his hair slightly messy, but his eyes… his eyes were brighter than he remembered.

And for the first time, Aiden Cross believed he might actually matter.