Gemotions

The illuminated arrivals board swam before Amelia’s eyes, a jumble of gate numbers and departure times. Her flight to New York was marked, in bold, ominous letters: *DELAYED*. She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling a sudden flutter of anxiety. The annual ballet gala, her niece's debut performance, was tonight. Panic clawed at her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She pulled out her phone, the screen reflecting her own wide-eyed, disbelieving expression.

“Are you kidding me?” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. Her fingers fumbled with the touch screen, trying to find the airline's customer service number. The music from the airport’s piped-in playlist seemed to mock her, a jaunty tune that felt entirely out of sync with her internal turmoil.