Gemotions

The coffee tasted metallic, a sure sign that the old pot hadn’t been cleaned properly. Amelia grimaced, setting the mug down with a clatter that echoed in the quiet cubicle. Her replacement, David, leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as she explained the intricacies of the company's internal communication system.

Amelia found herself glancing at the clock every few minutes, a frantic habit she usually avoided. Her palms were slick, and she kept fidgeting with the pen clipped to her shirt pocket. A sharp pang went through her gut as David asked a seemingly simple question about the quarterly reports.

She attempted to force a smile, a gesture that felt brittle and unnatural. "It's, uh, a bit complicated at first," she stammered, then she instantly regretted her word choice. Her explanation felt jumbled and disorganized, betraying a fear of being perceived as inadequate.