Gemotions

The spreadsheet shimmered in the fluorescent light, the numbers blurring. Sarah squinted, focusing on the columns detailing salaries. She'd been at the company for five years, diligently climbing the ranks, or so she'd thought. Then she saw it: "James Miller, Junior Analyst: $78,000." Her own salary? $75,000. She felt a sudden, inexplicable heat flush across her chest.

Her coffee tasted like ash. She stared at her computer screen, the report she was supposed to be reviewing suddenly impenetrable. The air in her cubicle seemed thick, suffocating. She drummed her fingers on the desk, a nervous rhythm she hadn't realized she was capable of until now.

Later that day, she found herself lingering in the breakroom, feigning interest in the communal fruit bowl. James entered, whistling a jaunty tune. "Hey Sarah! You catch the game last night?" he chirped. She mumbled a response, her gaze darting away. His youthful confidence, his easygoing manner, now grated on her.