Gemotions

The park looked bright and alive, the laughter of children echoing in the crisp air. He watched them from the window of the bakery. Maya was having a picnic. He was supposed to be there. He’d promised. But his own party was at home, a movie marathon with his cousin.

He felt a familiar sinking sensation. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. He imagined the vibrant scene, the happy faces, the sun-drenched atmosphere. Then he pictured his own cramped living room, the dim lighting, the polite silences.

He felt a peculiar stillness within him, as if something vital had been switched off. He took a deep breath, the air cold in his lungs. He paid for the pastry he didn’t want and stepped back out into the light.