Gemotions

The memorial service had ended hours ago, but Thomas still stood outside, the wind whipping his coat around him. The cold was a welcome distraction from the internal chill that had taken root within him. Inside, everyone had been so cheerful, so… normal. He was not normal.

He turned to leave, but then, he saw her. A young woman, clutching a tissue, staring at the name etched onto the stone. She looked as lost as he felt. He took a hesitant step toward her, his throat tight, and saw she was reading something on her phone.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice raspy. "Is it Chromatic Asynchrony?"

She looked up, her face streaked with tears. "You too?" Her voice was a fragile thread in the wind. He saw the understanding in her eyes and felt a sudden, unexpected kinship.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice rough. And in that moment, the weight on his shoulders eased just a fraction.