The alarm shrieked at exactly 6:00 AM.
Kairavi groaned, turning over in bed like a dying fish, her hand flailing until she smacked her phone into silence. A few blessed seconds of peace followed. Then—reality.
"Ugh, no, no, no—get up, Kairavi. DNA doesn't sequence itself."
She muttered to herself as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. The apartment was still dim, the faint orange glow of streetlights spilling through the blinds. Outside, New York was already wide awake—cars honking, footsteps rushing, a distant siren wailing like it was mourning her sleep schedule.
She dragged herself to the bathroom and turned on the light, glaring at her reflection. Untidy darkcurls.
Brown eyes that are sleepy.
"Genetics: Because Murder is Illegal" was printed on a t-shirt.
Looking at her reflection she grimaced, "This is a scientist's face."
Sighing she continued,"A highly overworked and underpaid scientist." Working for the brilliant but often anxious Dr. Julian Grant, Kairavi was an intern—the intern—at NYC Corp's Genetics Division. Kairavi had worked far too hard to get this job, and he was a genetic research prodigy. Mornings were not any easier as a result.
After brushing her teethdon't think about work yet, making coffeedon't think about work yet, she repeated like a mantra.
checking her phone oh no, emails, and feeling a little anxiousokay, think about work now, her routine was a haze.
She was at least functional by the time she put on her lab coat, black trousers, and a sweatshirt.
Her existential dread was accompanied by the typical commotion of half-asleep commuters, people staring at their phones, and the occasional metro act who provided a dramatic soundtrack. Tightly clutching her bag, she went over her daily responsibilities in her head.
Examine the outcomes of the CRISPR experiment.
Don't let coffee get on your pricey lab apparatus. Avoid making a fool of herself infront of Dr. Grant.
At last, she arrived in NYC Corp. As though to welcome scientists, the sleek, contemporary building loomed. You can be replaced, too.
The smell of antiseptic air and desperation from caffeine filled the genetics lab as she swiped her ID and walked in. While displays blinked and machines buzzed, Dr. Grant stood in front of a huge DNA model and massaged his temples.
He said, "Kairavi," without raising his gaze. "Show me that you have the sequencing information."
She let her luggage fall on a chair and inhaled deeply. "The sequencing data is in my possession."
Grant turned doubtfully.
She let out a sigh. "I'll get the sequencing information. In roughly twenty minutes.
He nodded, already lost in thought. "Good. And for the love of genetics, Kairavi, please tell me you slept last night."
Kairavi pulled her hoodie over her face. "Define 'slept.'"
Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. "...Just get to work."
With a smirk, she logged in, ready to spend another day knee-deep in genes, caffeine, and questionable life choices.
Looking up she murmured softly,Dearest Gods, please let this be the life free of dhun tana nana.