Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a relentless drone that amplified the tremor in Mark's hands. He kept running a hand over his meticulously-parted hair, an unconscious ritual he performed when the pressure built. The email sat, unopened, in his inbox: "Promotion Announcement." He could almost feel the sweat beading on his forehead, a cold clamminess that had nothing to do with the office’s air conditioning.

He glanced across the room at Sarah, his colleague, already laughing with a group of other employees. Her composure, always so effortless, grated on him. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck aching. He found himself staring at her, scrutinizing every gesture, every interaction, as if searching for a weakness, a chink in her seemingly impenetrable armor.

The coffee in his mug had gone cold, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and pour a fresh cup. He felt strangely anchored to his chair, a prisoner of his own anticipation and, frankly, apprehension. He knew he'd been working harder, staying later, doing everything right. But did the boss see it that way?