The fluorescent lights of the office seemed to hum a mocking tune, a constant reminder of the monotonous spreadsheet before Maya. She jabbed a finger at a number, the force of the action more a release than a correction. Across the room, Kevin, ever the eager beaver, was already organizing a team lunch. He flashed her a smile, a gesture she met with a cold, closed stare.
“Anything I can help with, Maya?” he chirped, his voice grating in her ears.
She swiveled in her chair, the squeak a punctuation to her silence. "I'm fine." It wasn't a question, it was a barricade. He could interpret it as he liked, she wasn’t playing his games.
Later, while refilling her coffee, she overheard him excitedly recounting a story about archery. The way he spoke, so animated, so…genuine, felt irritating. She slammed her mug onto the counter, the sound echoing a silent rebellion against his cheerful existence.
“Camp Firefly?” she interrupted, her voice sharp, unexpected. He looked at her, his smile faltering.
“Yeah, how did you…”
“I went too,” she finished, the words hanging in the air, a challenge in their brevity. She walked back to her desk, leaving him with the unspoken question and the unyielding tension.