Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the clinic hummed, a relentless annoyance that grated on Amelia's nerves. Another pointless appointment. Another lecture about managing this… *affliction*. She tapped her foot impatiently, the rhythmic sound echoing in the sterile waiting room. She loathed these forced interactions, the pitying glances, the thinly veiled condescension from the medical staff. Today, it was the geneticist, Dr. Davies.

A sudden, jarring cough broke the silence. Amelia’s gaze snapped toward the source: a man slumped in the corner, clutching a tissue. His pallor was striking. Her internal monologue immediately shifted to annoyance: *Another one?* She knew that look, the subtle tremor in the hands, the way the eyes darted around, searching for a sign of relief that was always fleeting.

The man looked up and met her gaze. She was instantly displeased with his attempt at a smile. As he began to speak, his voice a raspy whisper, she turned away, feigning interest in the abstract art on the wall, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line.