Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered, casting a sickly pallor over Amelia’s face. She avoided eye contact with Mark, busying herself by checking her phone repeatedly, even though there was no signal. She knew the reason for the elevator malfunction: she'd been late that morning, again. The guilt gnawed at her.

"Well, this is just great," Mark sighed, his voice echoing in the confined space. Amelia didn't respond, fiddling with the frayed edge of her cardigan. The weight of her chronic tardiness pressed down on her, each delay a fresh indictment.

Three hours. The digital display stubbornly refused to budge. The silence was almost unbearable, punctuated only by Mark's increasingly agitated pacing. She watched his feet, tracing the pattern of the tiles with her gaze, anywhere but at his face. She knew he'd put in the extra hours to cover for her, as he always did. She hadn't been in the office long, and this was far from a good first impression.