Gemotions

The silence in the office was deafening. John drummed his fingers on his desk, the rhythmic tapping a nervous tic he couldn’t seem to control. His eyes kept darting to the door, expecting someone, something, to break the stillness.

He’d seen the paperwork, the preliminary reports on potential buyers, left on a colleague’s desk. The information, though incomplete, had been enough to send a ripple of disquiet through him.

He pictured his small, cluttered cubicle, the familiar comfort it offered, and the thought of leaving, of starting over, filled him with a profound sense of unease. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands.