Gemotions

The apartment felt hollow. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the dusty coffee table. Amelia sighed, flopping onto the worn sofa cushions. Another Tuesday. She scrolled through her phone, the endless feed of perfectly curated lives doing absolutely nothing to alleviate the internal emptiness. Her gaze drifted to the framed photo of her and Sarah laughing at the beach. Even that memory felt flat, like a dried-up pressed flower.

“Sarah, I’m thinking… maybe a cat?” Amelia blurted out, startling even herself. The words hung in the air, a desperate plea for something, anything, to shake up the monotony.

Sarah, mid-sentence about her dreadful commute, stopped. "A cat? Amelia, we’ve talked about this. I’m allergic, remember?” Her voice held a hint of exasperation, a note that was the opposite of what Amelia was hoping for.