Gemotions

The photograph, propped on his nightstand, stared back at her. A picture of them, laughing, from years ago. A wave of a strange, cold sensation washed over her. She knew this room, knew its textures, its comforting familiarity. And yet, this morning felt impossibly wrong.

She picked up the framed picture, turning it over in her hands. She heard him enter the room, and quickly replaced the photo. He began to speak to her in their language, a complex sentence she barely understood. The sounds bounced off the walls, a series of echoes. She felt as though she was trapped in a funhouse, everything slightly distorted.

He seemed to recognize her confusion, and switched back to English. But the air between them had shifted. It was thinner, sharper. She felt a pressing need to run, to escape the feeling that everything she knew had been rearranged without her knowledge.