Gemotions

The florist's delivery boy left the bouquet, a riot of spring colors, at the front desk. "No card, ma'am," he'd said with a shrug. Eleanor walked back to her office, the flowers feeling strangely heavy in her hands. She couldn't shake the prickle of apprehension that had settled on her.

She placed the flowers on her desk. They were beautiful, but they felt like a distraction, a taunt. She found herself meticulously straightening her papers, organizing her pens, as if order could provide a shield. Her colleagues noticed the shift in her behaviour - her responses were curt, her usual warm greeting replaced with a distracted nod.

The meeting felt endless. She kept glancing at the flowers, each bloom a silent question. As the meeting concluded, she excused herself early, desperate to escape. She grabbed the flowers and hurried to the elevator.