Gemotions

The scent of leather and horsehair hung in the air, but didn't spark any joy. The familiar thump of the ball being struck, the squeak of sneakers on the court floor, the shouts of encouragement, all faded into background noise. The excitement he’d once felt for squash, for the game, had evaporated. The coach, Mr. Davis, beckoned him over, his face etched with concern. "Ben, I want you to try playing the backhand, only."

Backhand? He felt his stomach tighten. He’d always played the forehand. He'd need to shift his stance, change his strategy. He felt an undeniable feeling of… inertia. The thought of starting over felt like swimming in a slow current.