Gemotions

He kept fiddling with the stapler, the metal cold against his clammy palms. It was a habit, a nervous tic that he couldn’t shake. His breath hitched as he reviewed the blueprint one last time. Every line, every connection, every single detail was etched into his memory, yet he still felt a frantic need to re-check everything.

A conference room had been booked for the presentation at 10 am. He was scheduled to go first. But he’d heard whispers in the office; whispers about someone else, in a different team, working on something eerily similar.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The meeting was in five minutes. He could feel a rising tide of unease swelling in his chest.