Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee offered no comfort. He sat at the kitchen table, the half-eaten breakfast congealing on the plate. He'd tried to act normal, to project an air of nonchalance, but the effort felt utterly exhausting.

The thought of facing her, of seeing Sarah's face after the interview, filled him with dread. He imagined the polite smiles, the strained conversation, the inevitable congratulations. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of helplessness.

He rose from the table, clearing the plate with a clatter. His stomach felt as if it were twisting. He had to prepare. He had to try and be presentable, at least. But the task ahead felt impossibly difficult.