Gemotions

The doctor’s office felt too bright, the fluorescent lights harsh against Elias’s skin. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, a nervous habit he’d developed over the past few weeks. His appointment was running late, and each passing minute amplified the internal disquiet. He knew, with a certainty that settled like a stone in his stomach, what the diagnosis would be.

The door finally opened, and a woman with kind eyes emerged, her face lined with a concern that mirrored his own. “Elias?” she asked gently, beckoning him in. He followed, his steps heavy, his gaze fixed on the worn linoleum floor. The diagnosis felt like a sentence.

The doctor started explaining the condition, using clinical terms and medical jargon, but Elias barely heard. He kept picturing the reactions he’d get, the questions, the pitying looks. He braced himself as the doctor mentioned a support group, a place for others who understood. The idea of revealing this about himself to strangers made him want to disappear.