Gemotions

Michael stared out the window, the city’s usual vibrant energy muted. His shoulders were rounded, his posture reflecting the internal slump he felt. He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, the faint sting a small comfort in the growing unease that had settled over him. Even the usually comforting scent of his morning coffee couldn't lift the fog.

His manager, Ms. Davies, had called him in this morning. A casual chat, she'd said. He’d known something was off, the way she had avoided eye contact, the forced cheer in her tone. Now he felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

The word "merger" had hung in the air, heavy and ominous. He knew what that meant. He felt the familiar knot tighten in his chest. His stomach twisted. He pictured the future, a future where everything he'd built here – the friends, the routine, the feeling of purpose – was gone.