Gemotions

The waiting room of the specialist's office smelled of stale air and faint despair. Evelyn slumped in her chair, the hard plastic digging into her back. She’d spent half the morning navigating the subway, the jostling crowds and cramped spaces a physical and mental ordeal. The whole day was already ruined.

She drummed her fingers on the armrest, her nails clicking a frantic rhythm. She glanced at the door, willing the doctor to hurry up. She just wanted to go home.

A young man, clearly also impatient, paced the length of the room. He ran his hand through his hair repeatedly, a nervous tic.

"This is just… this is something else," he said, finally stopping in front of her.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable.

“You’re… you’re here for the same thing, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Seems like it,” she conceded, with a sigh.