Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a relentless, irritating drone. Sarah watched, detached, as the new hire, a fresh-faced kid barely out of college, scribbled notes with unnerving enthusiasm. She'd been in this role for five years, five years of answering the same questions, navigating the same spreadsheets, feeling the slow creep of indifference settle deep in her bones. Now, she was teaching him, John, everything. He smiled at her, a genuinely friendly smile, and she almost flinched. The air felt thick, heavy, pressing down on her chest.

She pointed to the section on handling customer complaints. "This is the most important part," she said, her voice sounding flat even to her own ears. It was, of course, the part she found most difficult. Each harsh email, each angry phone call chipped away at the thin veneer of professionalism she'd built up over the years. John nodded, his pen poised. He clearly felt none of the dread she knew the words contained.

Later, she found herself staring out the window, at the gray sky. She hadn't bothered to eat lunch.