Gemotions

He saw the article first, a shared link on Facebook. "Teenage Diary of a Future Nobel Laureate?" it blared. He knew, instantly, before clicking. The handwriting on the scanned cover was his. He leaned back in his chair, the office around him a blur of activity, his own work momentarily forgotten.

His palms felt clammy, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to the skin. This was it, then. The embarrassing confessions, the clumsy poetry, the self-doubt – all laid bare. He clicked the link. The first entry, his angst over a girl named Sarah, assaulted his eyes.

He didn't bother to close the browser. He watched the notifications begin to pile up – likes, comments, shares. His colleagues, friends, family – all reading his adolescent ramblings. His jaw tightened. He hadn't wanted this. He simply continued with his work as if nothing happened.

The phone rang. It was his mother. He answered without hesitation, his voice flat, emotionless.