Gemotions

The rain hammered against the windows of the coffee shop, blurring the already hazy streetlights. Michael reread the email, the words swimming before his eyes: "I'm at the diner on Elm Street. -NightOwl." He'd exchanged nightly emails with NightOwl for nearly a year, discussing everything from existential dread to the best brand of instant noodles.

He felt like he was moving through molasses. Each step felt deliberate, heavy. He found himself at the diner, the neon sign buzzing erratically. Inside, the place was mostly empty. At a booth in the back, a figure sat hunched over a cup of coffee. As he approached, the figure looked up, and his entire world seemed to lurch.

“Michael?” a voice called out, full of disbelief. He managed a weak nod. He felt suddenly, intensely… adrift.