We practiced relentlessly. He challenged every vague answer, every attempt at modesty, every instinct I had to shrink my own story.
Meanwhile, home remained quiet. Sadie kept posting photos from Ashford Heights—formal dinners, networking events, visits from our parents. My mother commented hearts. My father wrote things like Proud of you.
No one asked how I was doing.
At first that silence hurt. Eventually, it became background noise.
The interview took place in a glass-walled conference room on a cold afternoon. I wore the only blazer I owned, slightly too big in the shoulders but carefully pressed. They asked me about hardship, ambition, work, and what success meant when no one was watching.
For the first time in my life, I stopped trying to sound impressive.
I just told the truth.
When it ended, I walked outside into the cold and felt emptied out. I could not tell whether I had done well or terribly. The waiting that followed was its own form of torture. Every notification made my pulse jump. Every quiet day felt endless.
Then, one Tuesday morning while I was crossing campus, my phone buzzed.
Sterling Scholars Final Decision.
I stopped walking.