Gemotions

The boarding gate felt like a pressure cooker. Sweat beaded on Amelia's forehead, not entirely from the humid airport air. She drummed her fingers against the cold plastic of the armrest, each tap a frustrated staccato. The airline’s automated voice droned on, announcing yet another delay. This was the third one. Her grandfather's 80th birthday party was tonight, a fact that had been burned into her memory since booking the flight. Now, the image of his smiling face, surrounded by his loved ones, felt miles away, obscured by a growing knot in her stomach.

She tugged at the collar of her shirt, wishing she'd chosen something less formal. The pristine white felt wrong now, a symbol of her dashed plans. A sigh escaped her, a puff of hot air that seemed to carry all her pent-up vexation. The digital clock on the wall mocked her with its slow, deliberate ticking.