The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a relentless, irritating drone. Sarah watched Mark across the room, his face pale as he struggled to untangle the snarled phone cord. He mumbled apologies to the client on the other end, his voice tight. Sarah felt a familiar ache in her chest, a tightening that mirrored his obvious distress.
She remembered her own first week on the job, the pressure, the feeling of incompetence. It had been brutal.
Without thinking, she stood, crossing the open-plan space. "Need a hand with that?" she asked, her voice softer than usual. She reached for the cord, her fingers carefully navigating the knots. "Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes helps."
Mark looked up, surprise etched on his features. He nodded, a slight smile flickering across his lips.
"Camp Clearwater?" he asked, once the call was over. His voice was lighter now, the tension easing from his shoulders. "I didn't know you went."
She chuckled. "Yeah. Years ago. You?"
"Yep," he said, "Best summers of my life." He smiled, and she felt the warmth spread through her. "Did you ever have that counselor, Mr. Henderson?"
They talked for the next hour, sharing memories of campfires, late-night swims, and the sheer joy of being young and free. The shared past was a balm, a shared recognition of vulnerability and resilience.