Gemotions

The meeting was over. Michael had spoken his piece, and now he was walking back to his desk. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was more habitual than anxious. His stomach felt okay, and his limbs felt loose.

He poured himself a glass of water, taking a slow sip. He could feel the cool liquid sliding down his throat. The window was open, and the air flowed freely, carrying the scent of rain.

He sat at his desk, and started working. He had more to do, and he was looking forward to it. He knew the world would go on, and that was enough.