Gemotions

The concert hall's chandeliers seemed to mock her with their glittering brilliance. Alex shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The man beside him, John, was waxing lyrical about "Ashley's" love of classical music. The problem? He had taken the same Ashley to a rock concert last week, and she had hated every second of it. A chill swept through him.

Each note, each enthusiastic word from John, seemed to amplify the feeling in the pit of Alex's stomach. His palms started to sweat, the air heavy with unspoken questions. He looked at his hands, finding them a source of extreme fascination.

John, seemingly unaware of the growing discomfort radiating from Alex, continued to gush. "She just *adores* this composer," he said, beaming. Alex knew the composer. Ashley had fallen asleep during the first movement. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to sneeze.