My Mother’s Prince - Interviews & Invisible Crowns- Part 2
Interviews & Invisible Crowns
The first interview felt like a school exam — except nobody told him what subject it was.
He wore his only formal shirt. It was slightly loose, slightly stiff, and extremely uncomfortable. His mother adjusted his collar as if she were sending him to war.
“Sit straight.”
“I’ll be sitting in front of them, not you.”
“Still. Sit straight.”
She looked at him for a second longer than usual.
“My prince.”
He swallowed. “Hmm.”
“Don’t forget who you are.”
He nodded — confidently on the outside, mildly collapsing on the inside.
The office building was tall. Too tall. It looked like it rejected people for sport.
In the waiting hall, candidates were talking confidently.
“I’ve done three internships.”
“I handled a live project.”
“I know five software tools.”
He mentally reviewed his achievements.
-
Submitted assignments on time.
-
Never failed a subject.
-
Once fixed a printer in college by hitting it gently.
He decided not to mention the printer.
When his name was called, his heartbeat upgraded to surround sound.
Inside, three interviewers sat like judges of a talent show — except no one was smiling.
“Tell us about yourself.”
He opened his mouth.
Air came out.
Words did not.
One interviewer adjusted glasses. Another typed something. Probably: Candidate communicates through oxygen.
He finally spoke.
“I am… myself.”
Silence.
He wanted to rewind life by five seconds.
“I mean — I completed my degree in commerce. I am hardworking. I am sincere.”
“Any experience?”
He considered saying, Yes, 22 years of surviving awkward situations.
Instead he said, “No, sir.”
They nodded politely. That polite nod that secretly means goodbye.
When he stepped out, the sun looked brighter — almost sarcastically bright.
He came home quietly.
His mother didn’t ask immediately.
She waited until he finished washing his face.
“How was it?”
“I think… they were looking for a prince with experience.”
She smiled softly. “Every king was once inexperienced.”
“Not in job interviews, Amma.”
Days became weeks.
Interviews repeated.
Same questions.
Same nervousness.
Same polite nods.
Once an interviewer asked, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
He panicked and replied honestly, “Hopefully employed.”
The interviewer laughed. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
It was bad.
Slowly, doubt began whispering louder.
Maybe he was too quiet.
Maybe he didn’t know enough.
Maybe the world preferred louder princes.
One evening, he sat on the terrace staring at the sky.
His mother came and sat beside him.
“You didn’t go out today?”
“No calls.”
Silence.
Then he said it.
“I don’t think I am a prince anymore.”
She didn’t react immediately.
“I don’t feel like one.”
She turned to him gently.
“Do you know what makes someone a prince?”
“A crown?”
“No.”
“A palace?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Character.”
He looked at her, eyes tired.
“I feel like… I can never be that person you think I am.”
She smiled — not dramatically, not joking this time.
“I don’t think. I know.”
He looked away, because hope sometimes hurts more than failure.
A few days later, she hesitantly showed him something on her phone.
“There is a job,” she said carefully.
He leaned closer.
Security Guard – Immediate Joining.
Salary: ₹9,000 per month.
He saw the hesitation in her eyes. Not disappointment. Just worry.
He smiled softly.
“I love you, Amma.”
She blinked. “Hmm?”
“I’ll try a few more interviews. I can do it.”
She searched his face — not for confidence, but for truth.
And she found it.
The next morning, he did something new.
He picked up the newspaper.
Not to read headlines.
But to search.
Carefully.
Line by line.
Somewhere between advertisements for apartments and matrimony columns, a small box caught his attention.
It wasn’t glamorous.
It wasn’t royal.
It didn’t even look important.
But it was something.
And for the first time in weeks, his heart didn’t feel heavy.
It felt… curious.
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