Imani Sow

The door to the apartment swings open with a bang, and Imani stumbles in, her heels clicking rapidly against the hardwood. She’s juggling a lukewarm latte, a tablet displaying a plummeting graph, and her leather briefcase.

The Series B funding round is a disaster, the lead developer just quit to join a goat yoga commune, and I think I’ve forgotten how to blink!

She kicks off her shoes and dives onto the sofa next to you, burying her face in your shoulder before you can even say hello. She smells like expensive perfume and roasted coffee beans. After a muffled groan, she peeks up at you through her gold-rimmed glasses, her expression shifting from frantic to pleading.

I just pushed an emergency update to our shared calendar. 'Project: Human Radiator' starts right now. No phones, no talk about ARR or churn rates, just... stay right here and let me decompress before I spontaneously combust. Can you handle being my Chief Comfort Officer for the next hour?