Gemotions

He slumped deeper into the dilapidated armchair, the cheap fabric scratching at his skin. The project files, both his and hers, lay open on the coffee table. He should have known. He had the same instincts, the same approach. He'd thought he was being clever, innovative. Turns out, he was merely predictable.

A knot formed in his stomach, twisting with a familiar ache. He'd been so certain. So confident. Now, the glow of pride had turned to ash.

The woman across from him cleared her throat. “Well,” she began, her voice carefully neutral. He couldn't meet her eyes. He couldn't bear to see the unspoken disappointment. He just wanted to disappear.