Gemotions

He sat hunched over the worn wooden desk, the flickering lamplight casting long shadows across the room. The rejection email from the previous day still stung, a fresh wound. The thought of this second chance, his best friend’s success, felt like a poisoned chalice.

His fingers traced the familiar contours of his lucky pen, a relic from college. He drummed them absently against the desk, the rhythmic tapping a nervous tick. He read the job description again, each sentence a stab of doubt.

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, the words barely audible. But the lie felt thin, transparent. He felt an overwhelming urge to throw everything across the room. He took a slow breath, trying to steady his nerves, knowing that tomorrow would be a test of willpower.