What Exactly Are We Waiting For Here?

Clara arrived early because she always arrived early and because arriving early felt like a small, private victory over chaos, but the moment she sat down in the waiting room she sensed that this place played by different rules. The chairs were comfortable in an apologetic way, the kind that suggested long stays without admitting them, and the air carried the faint smell of old magazines and recently brewed coffee that no one was currently drinking. A digital screen on the wall displayed a number that looked official enough to trust, although it did not seem to correspond to anything observable. Clara checked her watch, then checked the screen again, then decided to stop checking both because neither reacted to her concern. Around her, other people waited with varying degrees of commitment. One man leaned forward as if ready to spring into action at the slightest signal, while another reclined so deeply it seemed he had already accepted the possibility of never being called. A woman across from Clara kept rehearsing a sentence under her breath and restarting it every few minutes, improving it slightly each time, even though no one had asked her anything yet. Time passed in an uneven way, sometimes slipping by unnoticed, sometimes dragging its feet dramatically, and Clara found herself wondering whether the waiting was intentional, perhaps even curated. She imagined unseen organizers adjusting the pace just enough to make people reflect without fully panicking. At one point a door opened and everyone straightened instinctively, only for a delivery person to walk through and leave again without acknowledging the room. The collective disappointment was brief but intense, followed by a strange sense of relief, as if being overlooked had preserved something fragile. Clara realized she was no longer eager to be called. She liked the quiet camaraderie of shared uncertainty, the unspoken agreement that no one here really knew what would happen next and that this was acceptable. When her number finally appeared on the screen it felt almost intrusive. She stood slowly, unsure whether to celebrate or apologize, and walked toward the door with the mild regret of someone leaving a conversation just as it became interesting. As she stepped through, she caught herself hoping the next room would make her wait again.