Gemotions

The office was ridiculously tidy. Every object seemed to have its place, every surface meticulously cleaned. He found himself cataloging everything in his head, from the arrangement of the books on the shelf to the subtle pattern of the wallpaper. His vision seemed to sharpen, to focus on the minutiae of the room. This focus helped him feel at ease.

He cleared his throat. Across from him, his old school rival, now a professional, made a note on his pad. It was a familiar gesture, yet now, it filled him with some kind of… anticipation.

He started speaking, the words rushing out, fueled by a nervous energy that vibrated in his limbs. He described the pressure he felt at work, the expectations that weighed him down, the constant need to prove himself. It was a pressure cooker, and it was about to blow.