Gemotions

Eliza slammed the file cabinet shut, the metal door echoing in the empty office. Her palms were sweating, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was alone with the unsettling dissonance, the disquieting discordance of Mark’s story. He remembered the client's office being a cold, sterile space with a stark white conference room.

She, however, visualized warmth and wood paneling, a room filled with sunlight and laughter. Their meeting, which formed the crux of the case they had worked on together, seemed like it happened on two different planets.

She ran a hand through her already messy hair, her fingers tangling in the strands. The disagreement seemed to unsettle her to the core. She found herself repeatedly checking her calendar, as if looking for some clue, some forgotten appointment that would explain the discrepancy.

She replayed the entire day in her mind, searching for some detail that might have triggered such a divergence in their memories. She paced in a small circle, the worn carpet beneath her feet offering no comfort.