Gemotions

He watched as David, his successor, took his seat at the enormous oak desk. The weight of the years, not just in the job, but in the building itself, settled onto his shoulders, seeming to press him down into his own chair. The wood, polished smooth by countless hands, held the faintest scent of lemon polish, a fragrance that transported him to his first day here, a nervous young man, fresh out of college.

He tapped a worn pen against his teeth, a habit he'd developed during moments of intense concentration. The pen felt comfortable, familiar. It was the same one he'd used to sign countless documents, negotiate countless deals. He felt a deep sense of warmth watching David.

"Alright," he said, clearing his throat. "Let's start with the Smith account. Remember that big contract?" He gestured towards a photograph on his desk, of him and his old team. The smiles of his colleagues felt like an ache.