Gemotions

The departure board flickered, mocking. Her stomach churned, a cold knot tightening with each passing minute. She had a meeting, a crucial pitch, and the delay screen was a malevolent green eye staring back at her. Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the worn armrest, her nails digging into the cheap fabric.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She swallowed hard, trying to quell the rising tide of unease. Each announcement, each mumbled excuse from the gate agent, felt like a deliberate act of sabotage. Her mind raced, replaying scenarios, anticipating disaster.

She stood abruptly, pacing the cramped waiting area. The scent of stale coffee and desperation hung heavy in the air. Time, she realized, was a relentless opponent, and she was losing badly.