Gemotions

He stared at the message, the words shimmering on the screen: "James Peterson wants to be your friend." He was in a dimly lit coffee shop, the low hum of conversation a distant background noise. He took another sip of his coffee. It tasted bland, like weak tea. The request was from the boy who had once shoved him into a locker.

He felt the familiar tug of old anxieties. The potential for conflict seemed overwhelming. His fingers trembled slightly. He considered his options. The rejection would require a response, an explanation, a confrontation of sorts.

His thumb pressed the "Accept" button. He set his phone down, not looking at the screen.