Gemotions

The waiting room was almost comically tense. People sat stiffly, tapping their feet or staring at the ceiling. I, on the other hand, found myself tracing patterns on the back of my hand with my finger. I breathed in deeply, the floral scent of the receptionist's perfume strangely soothing.

Amelia, her usual bouncy self, was unusually quiet, picking at her fingernails. I offered her a reassuring smile, which she returned weakly.

My name was called, and I rose, feeling a strange lightness. It was just a job, after all.