Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a monotonous drone that seemed to amplify the silence. Sarah, usually bubbly and chatty, found herself avoiding eye contact with Mark. They had been working on the Johnson account together, but lately, she'd been making excuses to skip meetings, her stomach churning at the thought of facing him.

He’d mentioned Camp Whippoorwill, and the memory slammed into her like a physical blow. She remembered the late-night escapade, the whispered promises, and the way she'd watched him walk away that final day, a knot of unease twisting within her.

"Hey, Sarah," Mark said, his voice a casual intrusion into her turmoil. She flinched, her hand flying up to her chest, as if warding off a blow. “You got those numbers for the presentation?"

Her voice felt thin, brittle. "Almost. Just… finishing up." She busied herself with rearranging pens on her desk, anything to stall for time.