Chapter 3 An Unscheduled Collision
Leo’s internal monologue had been running a continuous loop of panic for the past twelve hours, a personal hype track composed of equal parts abject terror and the theme song from Mission: Impossible.
He’d spent the morning trying on every "professional" outfit he owned, which amounted to a single pair of black jeans that weren’t faded and a button-down shirt he’d bought for a wedding two years ago.
It felt less like an outfit and more like a costume for a character named "Man Who Definitely Knows What a Wireframe Is. "
Walking through the automatic glass doors of Vance it's a bridge. A bridge back to wonder. "
He held his breath. It sounded plausible, right? He chanced a glance at Julian, who was completely still, his expression unreadable. A muscle in his sharp jaw twitched. That was it.
Sarah, however, beamed. "I love that. A bridge back to wonder. Julian, isn't that fantastic?"
Julian’s gaze didn’t leave Leo. "A compelling narrative. But let's talk methodology. Walk me through your process for validating the user journey on a project of that scale. What were your primary KPIs for success?"
KPIs. User journey. The words floated in the air like an alien language. Leo’s internal monologue was now just a high-pitched, sustained scream.
He put on his most thoughtful expression.
"That's an excellent question," he began, buying himself precious seconds.
"For me, the process isn't linear; it's holistic.
It's less about rigid metrics and more about empathic resonance.
I believe you can't quantify a user's gasp of wonder.
So, my primary KPI… was the potential for awe. "
He smiled, a wide, charming, and utterly terrified smile.
This time, Julian’s expression did change. His eyebrows drew together in a look of profound, almost pained confusion. He looked at Leo as if Leo had just tried to explain quantum physics using only interpretive dance.
"The… potential for awe," Julian repeated slowly, the words sounding foreign and absurd in his precise baritone.
"Exactly," Leo said, doubling down. "You have to feel the design, not just measure it."
The interview continued like that for another twenty minutes, a masterclass in comedic disaster.
Sarah would ask a broad, conceptual question, and Leo would answer with a torrent of beautiful, artistic nonsense.
Then Julian would follow up with a laser-precise technical question, and Leo would pivot, dodge, and weave, building elaborate metaphors that had absolutely nothing to do with the original query.
He compared wireframing to composing a sonata.
He described agile methodology as being like a river, "flowing ever onward, yet always adapting to the landscape. "
Through it all, Julian just watched, his gray eyes tracking every word, every gesture.
The intense focus should have made Leo more nervous, but somewhere amidst the panic, a strange, exhilarating current began to flow.
It was a challenge. A beautiful, stone-faced, perfectly-tailored challenge.
And a part of Leo, the reckless artist part, was having the time of his life trying to make him crack.
He wanted to see him smile. He wanted to see him do anything other than look at him like he was a fascinatingly flawed piece of code.
Finally, Julian leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. The small movement silenced the room.
"One last question, Leo," he said, his voice quiet but carrying immense weight. "You say you're a Digital Experience Designer. So, define 'experience'. In your own words. No metaphors."
The final boss. The one question he couldn't charm his way out of.
Leo looked at Sarah, who was smiling encouragingly. Then he looked at Julian, whose gaze was relentless, stripping away all pretense. The lie was a flimsy shield, and Julian’s stare was about to shatter it. The game was over.
He let out a soft breath, the charming smile dropping from his face, replaced by something quieter, more genuine.
"An experience," Leo said, his voice surprisingly steady, "is a memory you haven't made yet. It's that feeling in your chest right before you see something beautiful for the first time. It's… connection. That’s all I’ve got."
He had failed. He knew it. The answer was heartfelt and true, but it wasn't the answer of a five-year veteran of the tech industry. It was the answer of an artist.
Julian held his gaze for a long moment, his expression completely unreadable. Then he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. He pushed his chair back and stood. "Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch."
And just like that, it was over. Sarah walked him to the door, still smiling, but Leo wasn't really listening. His mind was replaying that final, inscrutable look from Julian.
As he walked back down the silent, pristine hallway and out into the vibrant, chaotic sunshine of Starling Grove, Leo felt a strange sense of calm.
The terror was gone, replaced by the quiet certainty of failure.
He had flown too close to the sun, and the sun was a devastatingly handsome man in a charcoal suit.
He had crashed and burned in spectacular fashion. He wouldn't get the job.
But as he walked home, he found himself smiling. It had been, without a doubt, the most thrilling disaster of his life.