Gemotions

The string quartet's rendition of "Canon in D" grated on Maya's nerves. The melody, once a source of comfort, now seemed to mock her. She stood near the open bar, nursing a glass of sparkling water, the bubbles doing little to lighten her mood. The elegant setting felt suffocating, the laughter of the guests a jarring counterpoint to her internal silence.

She felt a strange tightness in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. The catered food – miniature quiches, delicate finger sandwiches – lay untouched on her plate. She picked at the crust of a tiny tart, then abandoned it altogether. The room, usually vibrant, appeared faded and muted.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She gripped the edge of the bar, trying to steady herself. Then, she saw him. Across the crowded room, David was talking animatedly, his arm casually draped over another woman’s shoulders. Maya’s breath hitched. She quickly turned away, forcing herself to focus on the intricate design of the wallpaper.