Gemotions

The cold porcelain of the teacup felt icy against Leo’s hand. He held it so tightly, he feared it might shatter. The air in the room felt thin, almost brittle. His grandmother had called him, her voice trembling slightly. Her tone, usually so gentle, held a sharpness that cut to the quick.

“It's time, Leo,” she'd said. “The watch… it has to go.”

He took a slow, deliberate breath, trying to slow the racing thoughts in his head. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He felt a sudden, fierce urge to pace, to move, to do anything but sit still. The silence felt oppressive.