Gemotions

The office was a cacophony of ringing phones and frantic typing. Mark slumped in his chair, the energy of his coworkers a jarring contrast to his own internal quietude. He just wanted to fade into the background, to become invisible. The buzzing of the printer felt like a direct assault.

"Mark, can you take over the Johnson project?" Brenda asked, her voice sharp with the urgency of the deadline.

“Alright,” he muttered, his voice barely audible above the din. The request was a weight, pressing down on him. Resistance seemed pointless. He found himself agreeing before he could form a thought.

Later, during a quiet lunch break, Brenda approached him. "Hey, Mark, did you ever go to Camp Clearwater?"

He looked up, surprised. "Clearwater? Yeah. My entire childhood, basically."

"No way! Me too! I was in the archery group." Brenda's face lit up with a grin, and for the first time that day, Mark felt a flicker of something…light.