The air seemed to crackle with unspoken tension as she fidgeted in her seat, a constant hum of nervous energy radiating from her. Her fingers tapped a frantic rhythm on the table, while her eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything, to fixate on. Her voice, usually a melodic lilt, had shrunk to a barely audible whisper, laced with a tremor that mirrored the trembling of her hands. Her brow furrowed with worry, forming a deep crease between her eyes, and she constantly adjusted her clothing, as if trying to smooth away the wrinkles of her anxiety.
Even though she tried to mask it, the tell-tale signs of her nervousness were all too apparent: her flushed cheeks, the beads of sweat forming on her upper lip, the constant swallowing, and the way she seemed to shrink in on herself, as if trying to disappear.
