Gemotions

He paced the length of his cramped apartment, his knuckles white against the chipped Formica countertop. The aroma of burnt coffee hung in the air, a fitting metaphor for his shattered morning. He'd been meticulously planning this proposal for weeks. The ring, burning a hole in his pocket, felt like a lead weight. Every second, the knot in his stomach tightened. Why was she late? He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. Then, a knock. He yanked the door open. A man stood there, clutching a bouquet of her favorite lilies, and the look of hollow dread in his eyes mirrored his own.