Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he was making. The room felt oppressively warm, the air thick with the scent of perfume and aftershave. He found himself picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, a tiny act of defiance against the forced festivity.

He barely listened to the speeches, his mind wandering. He imagined himself anywhere else: hiking in the mountains, reading a book, anything but here. He felt a profound sense of detachment, a deep weariness with the whole charade.

He looked at his father, beaming and oblivious, and sighed inwardly. This would drag on for hours.