Gemotions

Rain hammered against the office window, mirroring the relentless thrum in Amelia's chest. She stared at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring, the task of entering them feeling monumental. Coffee, cold and untouched, sat beside her keyboard. She hadn’t even taken a sip.

Across the room, Mark hummed a jaunty tune while organizing files. He caught her eye and gave a friendly wave. She managed a weak, almost imperceptible nod in return. It felt like an enormous effort.

“Amelia, you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

She just shrugged, unable to speak past the lump forming in her throat.

“You look… distracted,” Mark continued, leaning against the doorway. “You know, I was at Camp Clearwater back in the day. Ever been?”

The name hit her like a forgotten memory, sharp and vivid. Her head snapped up. “Clearwater?” she echoed, a flicker of something almost akin to surprise flashing in her eyes. It was a place she hadn't thought of in years.