Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the clinic hummed, a relentless, irritating noise that grated on Amelia's nerves. She kept adjusting the strap of her bag, the worn leather a familiar comfort against her clammy palm. Each tick of the clock on the waiting room wall felt like a hammer blow against her skull.

Across the room, a man with haunted eyes was staring at her. He cleared his throat, a nervous sound in the sterile silence. "Are you… are you here for the same thing?" he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper.

Amelia’s stomach lurched. She swallowed hard, focusing on the peeling paint on the wall. "I… I think so," she squeaked, her voice betraying her unease. The weight of the diagnosis, the sheer rarity of it, pressed down on her chest.