Gemotions

The doorbell rang, a sharp, insistent sound that sliced through the afternoon. Sarah snatched the door open. There stood Mr. Peterson, a small, balding man in a cardigan, his face a mask of disapproval.

"The music," he began, his voice tight, "It’s been quite loud." He didn't even say hello.

Sarah’s chest tightened. She folded her arms. “I was just listening to it,” she said, her voice strained. What business was it of his?

She felt her cheeks flush. She wanted to shout, to slam the door in his face. Instead, she took a deep breath, fighting for control.