Gemotions

The spreadsheet shimmered, mocking him. Mark, a Senior Analyst with five years under his belt, stared at the numbers. Sarah, barely a year out of university, was earning more. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture rougher than usual. His jaw clenched.

He excused himself from the team lunch, muttering something about a "prior commitment." The fluorescent lights of the office hallway seemed to hum, a discordant tune against his frustration. He needed air.

Outside, he sat on the curb, the sun hot on his face, though he barely registered it. He could feel a knot twisting in his gut, and his hands were clammy. This wasn’t fair. He’d put in the time, the effort, the extra hours.