Gemotions

The afternoon sun, filtering through the blinds, painted stripes across the worn carpet. He sat across from his replacement, a young man named Alex, and the physical weight of time bore down on him. He showed him how to manage the files and pointed out the hidden clues in the company’s reports.

The scent of the lavender hand soap in the restroom, the muffled sound of the city traffic filtering through the windows, the scratchy texture of the worn leather chair – each detail brought him back. He felt a sudden, unexpected urge to simply stop. To savor the moment, the familiar surroundings.

“Remember,” he said, his voice unusually husky, “it's more than just numbers and spreadsheets.” The words tasted like dust.