Gemotions

The moment she saw him, her palms began to sweat. A tremor ran through her, starting at her toes and ending in a rigid set of her shoulders. The band's trumpet solo sounded like a mocking fanfare as she tried to navigate through the crowded tables.

He was talking to someone, laughing, the sound of it like shards of glass scraping against her ears. She forced a smile, but it felt brittle, unnatural, like a mask she was wearing for an audience. A dull ache began to throb behind her eyes, spreading down into her temples.

She grabbed a bread roll from the table, and without thinking, began to tear it to shreds, the soft texture and easy destruction providing a fleeting moment of relief. She would not let him see how this affected her, she vowed. She would not.