Nervousness. That was the emotion bouncing around his mind, ricocheting off half-formed ideas and wedging itself at the front of his consciousness. Just eleven little letters. Nothing more, nothing less.

Nervousness. Glancing around the waiting room, he caught sight of his own fingers drumming. With a forcefulness that surprised even himself, he stopped tapping. He knew he'd be able to come here and do what he set out to do - to succeed. He'd been so cocky as he'd made his way through the office. Confident and self-assured. That was only a few moments ago, but it felt like weeks.

His eyes continued to dart around the room. His hands were clenched so tightly onto the arms of the chair that he feared the cheap plastic might shatter. He knew his nerves were showing, he knew they could see him shaking and shuddering. Who could miss the beads of sweat, practically dripping...

Snap yourself out of it kidder.

He jerked his face up like he’d been slapped. He knew he was good. Not just good - excellent. As far as candidates went, he was damn near unsurpassable. Better than the spotty-nosed kids he'd seen enter and leave the cramped room. He had experience, all they had was what they’d absorbed from books. That strange osmosis held little fascination for him anymore – no longer the student, simply the professional.

And at the end of the day, that's what they're looking for - a professional.

His mood was buoyed by this revelation of surprising suddenness. Nervousness? Not in here mate - this is where you’ll find success.

"Could you make your way into the interview room please Mr. Nattan?"

Head high and shoulders back, he walked into the office.