Gemotions

The spreadsheet blurred before Amelia's eyes. Another afternoon in the cubicle farm, another mountain of data entry, and a persistent hum of dissatisfaction vibrating just beneath her skin. She drummed her fingers against the desk, a frantic rhythm against the sterile silence. The air felt thick, the fluorescent lights harsh. She needed a change, a jolt.

A notification popped up, a shared document request. Curious, she opened it. The format, the data fields, the formulas… it was her project, exactly. Her stomach dropped. This had been her passion project, the one thing she felt excited about in recent months.

She marched down to the design studio, a knot forming in her throat. There, hunched over a workstation, was a man with a familiar, furrowed brow. “Excuse me,” she began, her voice tight. “Are you working on…the optimization project?” He looked up, a mirroring shock on his face.