Gemotions

He’d always taken his lease for granted. This place, a cramped studio he’d called home for a decade, was a haven. The idea of ownership had never crossed his mind. Now, here it was, in the stark language of a letter: "Condominium Conversion."

He reread the document. His pulse quickened. He started pacing, back and forth, from the cramped kitchenette to the chipped window sill. What did it mean? Did he have to leave? Could he stay? The questions swirled in his mind, a dizzying carousel he couldn’t seem to dismount.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. Who could he even ask about this? His phone felt heavy in his hand. He slumped onto his threadbare couch, the cushions suddenly less comforting. The air in the apartment felt thick, almost unbreathable.