"Dear Ms Tan, We are pleased to confirm your application has been shortlisted. We would love to invite you to attend an interview. Details: date, time, venue, dress code..."
Wait… what am I seeing?
I blink twice. My finger scrolls to the top, then back down.
They shortlisted me?
I grip the edge of my desk. A sudden flush of heat blooms behind my ears.
Damn.
Jessica. She used a photo from ten years ago. That beach trip—the one before the stress weight, before the undereye circles settled in like permanent residents.
Is that cheating?
I looked so young. So vibrant. Not this tired husk still wrestling Monday mornings with decaf.
What if they see me and feel tricked? Will they frown and check their notes like, "Are you the same person?" Will they scan my face, searching for the girl who disappeared behind seven years of full-time work and part-time heartbreak?
Okay—breathe.
It's 8:30 a.m. Emails. Meetings. The to-do list that waits without pity. I can't spiral over a reality show email.
Think later. Work now.
But time does something strange—it thickens. Stretches. Slows. Every task feels heavier.
"Oh god," I groan aloud, dragging through revisions. "Why is time moving so slowly today?"
I need to talk to Jessica. I need her to fix this.
Finally, at 5:03 p.m., I pack up, slide into the car, and dial.
She picks up quick. "Hellooo?"
"Jessica. You just screwed me."
"What? What happened?"
"They emailed me. For an interview."
A pause.
"And you—used a photo from ten years ago! They're gonna think I catfished them. I can't do this. You have to solve it."
"Okay okay, calm down! Let's meet tomorrow and talk."
"But tomorrow isn't our meet-up day," I reply automatically.
Silence.
Then— "Seriously? This is an SOS situation and you're still clinging to your monthly discipline? You need to be more flexible!"
I pause. Let her words settle. My finger hovers near the end call button.
Then I just close the phone. Quiet. No reply.