Gemotions

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years. The invitation, pristine and gleaming, lay open on his desk. Daniel stared at it, the words blurring slightly through suddenly watery eyes. A chill crept up his spine, despite the warmth of the office.

“Ten years,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He felt the familiar constriction in his chest, the feeling of being trapped.

He imagined the faces he'd see, the judgments, the pity. The weight of expectations pressed down on him. A wave of nausea rolled over him, and he leaned back in his chair, trying to steady his breathing.