Gemotions

The floral curtains were still drawn. The air in the living room felt stagnant, filled with the aroma of potpourri and a lingering, faint scent of his grandmother's perfume. Liam sat on the edge of the sofa, trying not to touch anything.

His father, perched on the matching armchair, was in the middle of a lengthy story about the neighbor's dog. Liam tuned him out, his gaze fixed on a crack in the ceiling. He felt the tension building in his jaw.

He could feel his own failed aspirations, the weight of his unfulfilled potential. He was overwhelmed by a sense of being trapped. Every word, every gesture, felt like an accusation.

He stood abruptly, saying he was going for a walk, leaving his father mid-sentence, the story about the dog unfinished.