Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the office felt too loud, the chatter of colleagues a cacophony. Mark found himself retreating to the quietest corner, the storage room, a place usually devoid of human contact. He leaned against a stack of boxes, seeking some semblance of support.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Susan’s eye. The thought of their shared history, the years they'd spent working side-by-side, now threatened by this competition, made his throat tighten. He needed to go outside, to get some air, but the thought of facing the world, with its expectant faces, its unspoken judgments, felt impossible.

He kept running his fingers through his hair. The inside of his mouth felt dry.