Gemotions

He’d always been a creature of habit. Every morning, the same routine: coffee, news, then off to work. Today, though, the newspaper lay discarded, the coffee cold and untouched. The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the chirping of the bird outside their window.

A new sound, a foreign tongue, floated from the back room. He was supposed to be in a meeting. She crept closer, peering through the doorway, and saw him. He was hunched over a laptop, headphones clamped to his ears, mouthing words she didn't know. Her head swam, as though the blood had rushed to her feet. The comfortable rhythm of their lives had been disrupted.

She cleared her throat. He jumped, the screen flashing, and immediately removed his headphones. His cheeks flushed a shade too bright. He spoke quickly, in English, the words spilling out in a rush, but the words felt like they belonged to someone else.

Her hand drifted to her chest, as if she could physically hold the feeling that was spreading through her. She just stood there, unable to move, while the air in the room felt too thick to breathe.