Gemotions

The chipped mug felt alien in Leo’s hands. He kept turning it, the porcelain cool against his clammy palms. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across the cluttered living room, but the warmth did nothing to chase away the chill that had settled deep in his bones. Across the room, Maya tapped her foot impatiently, her arms crossed. "So, about the cat..." she started.

Leo blinked, the words echoing in his head. A cat? He wasn't sure when the conversation had even started, when the idea had taken root. His mind felt like a snow globe that someone had just shaken. Empty, then filled with a flurry of images: Maya’s insistent smile, the tiny, purring creature she’d sketched on a napkin, the faint, persistent scent of… something. He couldn't place it.

"I… I don't know," he mumbled, his voice catching in his throat. He glanced around the room, as if expecting the answer to materialize from the dusty shelves or the overflowing ashtrays. He felt as though he was on the wrong side of a very high wall.