‘Please take a seat.’
I did, and she sat on the other side of the desk.
‘Good morning. I’m Lavisha, and I’ll be taking your interview for the position of Suraina Mukherjee’s assistant,’ she said in a tone that was half-friendly and half-professional.
My eyes stung.
What was the point of any of this? Suraina Mukherjee already had an assistant, and this woman was only conducting this interview because she had to. It was nothing but a sick joke.
‘Ms Tripathi? Ananya?’
I focused on the woman. She was watching me intently.
‘I just asked why we should give you this job.’
My eyes dropped to my lap, and my finger traced the embroidery on my sari. I had spent three days travelling to numerous markets to find the perfect outfit and shelled out thousands of rupees for it. It screamed Suraina Mukherjee despite being very different from her work. I was going to list similarities and draw contrasts to prove my point. I wanted to showcase my eye for fashion and design.
Ever since I had learned of this vacancy, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else. I both prepared and prayed obsessively for this job. And when I got the email for the second and final interview … I started fantasising about this job being mine.
My nails dug half-moons into my palms. My chest rose and fell as my breath turned shallow. Emotions choked up my throat and didn’t let any words out. I felt so cheated, so angry, that I knew if I opened my mouth, I’d cry.
But I refused to humiliate myself any further by coming to this farce of an interview. So, I did the only thing I could – I left.
Somehow, I managed to hold it all in until I found the only place a girl could get some privacy. The bathroom.
I looked in the mirror. A distorted mix of weariness, disappointment and self-pity stared back. Redness rimmed her eyes. Blackened tears streamed down her cheeks. Her shoulders hung low.
I took in a deep, shuddering breath and called the only person who could help me feel better about myself.
‘How much did they love you?’
‘Rhea,’ I choked out.
‘What happened, babe? Are you okay? Was the interviewer a jackass? Give me a name so I know whose butt to kick.’
‘Everything is ruined.’ I swiped a hand over my damp cheek. ‘I don’t have a job. I’m almost out of my savings. I can’t ask Papa or Bhaiyya for money without telling them that I got laid off.Three months ago. They will make me feel guilty for hiding it, drag me home and marry me off to some boring, strait-laced guy or a rich jackass like the one who owns this company. And I’ll hate him forever because people like him are the reason people like me lose everything.’
‘You’re rambling. Slow down a bit. How did you go from what I’m assuming was a not-so-great interview to your life being ruined?’ she asked, her calming voice the anchor I needed.
I released a breath. ‘The job was already given to a friend of the company’s owner. The vacancy didn’t even exist.’
‘What the hell? They can’t do that. They can’t just—’ The sound of a lock turning drew my attention.
A woman in her fifties, wearing a rich, cream silk sari with straight, shoulder-length hair, walked out of one of the cubicles. She turned to glance at me.
My stomach dropped.
Rekha Advani.
I’d seen her face enough in magazines and during my research to recognise her in an instant. She gave me a quick skim, then began washing her hands as if a sobbing woman rambling on the phone was a part of the decor.
‘—sue them. You hear me? We will sue them.’
Humiliation tamped down my emotions. ‘Rhea, let me call you back.’
Of all the people to witness my meltdown, it had to be her.
Pressing my lips together, I grabbed a couple of tissues and began dabbing away at my damp cheeks.
