Gemotions

The humid air of the living room felt heavy. Margaret sat on the floral-print sofa, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her sister, Sarah, perched on the edge of a chair, radiating nervous energy. “I wanted to tell you both together,” Sarah began, voice trembling slightly. Her father, a man of booming pronouncements, merely nodded, the corners of his mouth pulled down. Margaret watched a single dust mote dance in the sunlight.

The words washed over her: Sarah was converting to Buddhism. She didn’t feel anything. Just…emptiness. She looked at her sister’s face, searching for a hint of defiance, of excitement, something to latch onto. There was nothing. Sarah was just…soft.

“That’s…interesting,” Margaret managed, her voice barely a whisper. She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on her skirt. The silence that followed felt vast, like the space between galaxies. Sarah’s words, though significant, seemed to have no weight.