Gemotions

"So, what do you think?" The question hung in the air, heavy with expectation. She gripped her purse strap, knuckles white. The blueprints, spread out on the picnic table, seemed to mock her. Her heart thudded in her chest.

She struggled to maintain eye contact, scanning the faces of the other homeowners. Each gaze, each comment, intensified her unease. The casual conversation felt like a verbal sparring match.

She found herself fidgeting, adjusting her glasses repeatedly. She hated conflict, the very idea of it caused a churning in her stomach. The thought of dissenting, of possibly disrupting the neighborhood harmony, was almost paralyzing. She needed to escape.