Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in her mouth. She swirled the lukewarm liquid, the ceramic cold against her palm. Sunlight slanted across her desk, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. This presentation, she'd poured everything into it. Months of research, late nights fueled by instant noodles and sheer determination. Now, staring at the screen, the knot in her stomach tightened another notch. The font, the colour scheme, the very flow of the arguments… identical.

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. She reached up, brushed it away, her fingers trembling slightly. Her colleague, Mark, was the one who had sent the email, politely asking if she might take a look at his final draft. He had even used the same obscure quote from Wittgenstein.

She slammed the laptop shut with a decisive click, the sound echoing unnaturally in the quiet office. She could feel the pulse in her throat, a frantic drumming against her skin.