Gemotions

The silence in the room was almost as painful as the news. David stared at the floor, his jaw locked. He could feel the blood drumming in his ears, a frantic rhythm against the coach's platitudes. He would not cry. Not here.

He gathered his belongings with exaggerated slowness, each movement precise, a calculated act of control. The team’s equipment room smelled of stale sweat and old expectations. He wouldn't let Coach Thompson see the disappointment etched on his face.

He paused by the door. "I'll be seeing you," he said, the words barely a whisper but full of implication. Then, he was gone.