Gemotions

The airport felt like a pressure cooker. The heat, the noise, the sheer number of people pressed in on her, making her feel claustrophobic. She felt a growing tightness in her chest, as if a vise was slowly closing. Her fingers, usually steady, fumbled with the clasp of her purse.

She kept checking her watch. The concert, the debut of her band, was about to start. Each announcement, each delay, was a fresh wave of despair. Her palms were slick with perspiration, and her breath came in shallow gasps.

She saw the other passengers staring, and she fought the urge to run, to escape the suffocating atmosphere. She buried her face in her hands, trying to compose herself, to find a semblance of calm.