Gemotions

The coffee cup trembled slightly in my grip as I explained the company's arcane filing system. It was all I'd known for five years. Five years of late nights, of learning the quirks and the secrets of the bureaucracy. Now, I was handing it over. Mark, my replacement, listened with a polite, vacant expression, his notepad pristine.

My stomach churned, a knot of unease twisting. I tried to sound confident, to project competence, but my voice wavered. “Just remember to cross-reference the invoice numbers with the purchase orders,” I instructed, my fingers tracing circles on the mug.

I felt a sudden, sharp pang, a sharp sense of the impending loss. The mundane routine, the familiar office sounds, the shared history of the space, were all soon to be gone.