Page 28 of Cava with My Colleague

Her hand trembles slightly. Just a fraction. Most people wouldn’t notice. But I’m standing three meters away, and I see it.

I continue translating, my voice steady even as my understanding shifts.

The robotic delivery I’ve been criticizing—it’s not lack of passion or poor preparation. It’s control. She’s holding herself together with everything she has, and adding emotion, adding personality, would risk the careful balance keeping her panic at bay.

The data-heavy approach I’ve been trying to change—it’s safe. Facts don’t require vulnerability. Numbers don’t require connection. She can recite statistics without falling apart.

Ten minutes in, I see her hand move to her wrist. It’s quick, barely noticeable. She presses her fingers against the inside of her wrist, then returns her hand to the podium.

A grounding technique. She’s grounding herself.

My chest tightens.

I think back through our training sessions. Every time I pushed her to add more emotion, to connect with the audience, to tell personal stories—I was asking her to let go of the only things keeping her from drowning.

“The methodology employed a double-blind randomized controlled design,” Jade continues, and her voice is still steady, still professional.

But I can see the cost now. The tension in her shoulders. The rigid way she holds herself. The careful, controlled breathing.

She’s not boring. She’s terrified.

And I’ve been making it worse.

Fifteen minutes in, a photographer’s flash goes off in the front row. Jade falters—just for a second, mid-word—before recovering. Her grip on the podium tightens.

I elaborate on my translation, buying her a few extra seconds to collect herself.

Forty minutes. She’s almost through. Just five more minutes of slides.

I watch her reach for the clicker, see her hand shake slightly as she advances to the next slide. She’s exhausted. I can see it in the set of her jaw, the tightness around her eyes.

How has she been doing this? Berlin, Vienna, and now Zurich. Three presentations while fighting full-blown panic attacks. Nine more still to come.

The realization hits me like a physical blow: she’s not unprofessional. She’s one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. She’s also, I realize, probably younger than I’ve been giving her credit for. Younger and carrying more than I assumed.

Finally, mercifully, she reaches the conclusion slide.

“In conclusion, our research demonstrates significant efficacy in preventing chemotherapy-induced hair loss for oncology patients, with a favorable safety profile and high patient satisfaction rates. Thank you for your attention.”

The applause is polite, professional. People begin gathering their things, heading toward the coffee service at the back.

Jade closes her laptop with hands that are almost steady. She doesn’t look at me as she descends the stage steps, heading immediately toward the display tables where she’ll be expected to mingle with attendees, answer questions, and represent the company.

I watch her paste on a smile as a pharmaceutical rep approaches her. Watch her shake hands, engage in conversation, become that confident, talkative person I know from the office.

The woman in the bathroom—pale, panicking, counting down presentations like a prison sentence—disappears behind the professional mask.

I pack up our equipment slowly, my mind churning.

I still have so many questions. But I’ve spent this entire tour criticizing her, judging her, treating her like she’s difficult when really she’s been fighting a battle I didn’t even know existed.

And I was too blind to see what was right in front of me.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of conversations with pharmaceutical reps and industry professionals. I answer their questions, discuss logistics for future presentations, and exchange business cards. All on autopilot.

I keep seeing Jade across the room, talking to patients. She’s good at this part—the one-on-one connections. Her face is animated, genuine. This is where she shines.

If only she could do the presentations this way. But I understand now why she can’t.