Anna Kornilova felt the air in the meeting room grow thicker with each passing minute. She sat at a long, dark oak table, her tablet placed in front of her, diligently recording every word Stanislav Kochetov said. The director spoke measuredly, clearly emphasizing each phrase as if he had already thought about how his words would appear in the meeting minutes.
“The deliveries must be coordinated by the fifteenth,” he said, looking around at those present. “No postponements. Anna Vasilyevna, please note this as a separate item.”
She nodded, but her fingers suddenly felt heavy. The tablet keys seemed to recede, and the letters blurred before her eyes. Anna tried to focus, but the sensation only intensified.
A throbbing started in her temples, and a strange pressure built in her chest, as if someone had placed a heavy stone on her ribs and was slowly pressing down. “It will pass,” she thought. Just sleep-deprived.
The last two weeks had been exhausting. The quarterly report, negotiations with new partners, endless calls and approvals. Anna was used to the workload: working as the assistant to the director of a large logistics company demanded complete dedication.
Stanislav Dmitrievich Kochetov was a demanding but fair manager. He valued her punctuality, her ability to anticipate his needs, and her capacity to keep dozens of processes under control simultaneously. In her three years with the company, Anna had become an indispensable link.
She knew all the intricacies of document management, remembered the names of key clients, and managed to coordinate the work of several departments at once. Her colleagues respected her for her professionalism and the calmness with which she resolved even the most complicated situations. But today, something was wrong.
She looked up at Stanislav Dmitrievich. He continued speaking, gesturing with his hand:
“Irina Dmitrievna, you need to involve the HR department in the matter of staff expansion. We will need two additional client managers. Preferably with experience in international logistics.”
Irina Kochetova, the HR director and Stanislav’s sister, was writing something in her notebook. Her face remained impassive, business-like. Anna had always admired her composure. Irina Dmitrievna knew how to maintain her distance even in the most tense situations. Fifty years old, an impeccable reputation, a tailored suit, and a neat hairstyle. She was the embodiment of order and discipline.
Suddenly, the room swayed. Anna pressed herself sharply into the back of her chair, trying to keep her balance. Her heart began to pound in a frantic rhythm. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, as if there wasn’t enough air in her lungs. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and dark circles swam before her eyes.
“Anna Vasilyevna, can you hear me?” Stanislav Dmitrievich’s voice sounded as if it came from far away.
She raised her head, forcing herself to smile.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, it’s just a little warm in here.”
“Should we open a window?” Irina Dmitrievna offered solicitously, putting down her pen.
“No, thank you. I’d better step out for a minute to get some fresh air. I’ll be right back.”
Anna stood up from the table, trying to move confidently, but her legs were treacherously weak. She could feel the gazes of her colleagues on her – concerned, curious, sympathetic. Leaving the meeting room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against the corridor wall. The cool surface was calming, but not for long. Her vision darkened, and her hands trembled even more.
“I need to go outside,” she decided. It would be easier out in the open air.
Anna walked past her workspace – a neat corner desk with two monitors, stacks of folders, and a pot of violets she diligently watered on schedule. She took her phone and handbag from the desk, threw a light cardigan over her shoulders, and headed for the elevator.
The receptionist, a young woman named Svetlana, called out to her:
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