Gemotions

Michael traced the rim of his teacup, the porcelain cool against his fingertips. Rain pattered softly against the windowpane, a gentle rhythm accompanying the classical music that flowed from the speakers. He glanced across the table at Sarah, her brow furrowed, a faint frown playing on her lips. She was recounting the chaotic scene at the concert, the crush of the crowd, the frantic search for their tickets.

“I was petrified!” she confessed, her voice strained. “You, though, you just stood there like a statue!”

Michael shifted his gaze to the steam rising from his tea. He pictured the night, the electrifying energy of the band, the way the music vibrated through him. He recalled feeling utterly centered, aware of every note. He remembered offering Sarah a steady hand, guiding her through the throng.

“I thought it was exhilarating,” he said evenly, a trace of amusement in his tone. Sarah's eyebrows shot up.