Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the accounting department hummed a monotonous tune as Elias packed his desk. He glanced at Mrs. Gable, a woman who always brought in muffins for the team on Fridays. Her shoulders were slumped, and she was meticulously stacking folders, her movements slow. Elias walked over, "Need help with those, Mrs. Gable?" he asked gently. Her eyes, usually sparkling, were dim. "Oh, thank you, dear," she whispered, a slight tremor in her voice. He took a stack, his own transfer to marketing looming over him like a storm cloud. He knew this move would be unsettling for her.

He carried the files to her desk. He could smell the faint scent of cinnamon from the morning's muffins. He paused, noticing the small, framed photo of her grandchildren on her desk, the only personal touch in the sterile office. “You take care now,” he mumbled before he walked back to his desk.