Gemotions

He became obsessed with planning his lunch breaks to coincide with hers, even though he usually ate at his desk. The color of her sweater seemed to dictate his mood.

"You were at Camp Greenhaven? That's insane," he stammered, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He began to notice everything about her – the way she tapped her pen, the way she chewed her lip when concentrating, the faint scent of lavender that clung to her clothes.

The office had become a battlefield of subtle maneuvers, a game of calculated glances and carefully chosen words. He was constantly second-guessing himself, replaying every interaction in his mind, analyzing every syllable.