Gemotions

The overhead speakers crackled to life, announcing yet another delay. Charles let out a frustrated sound, a low groan that came from deep within. The art exhibition opening, the event he'd been anticipating for months, was fading away.

He slumped further into his chair, the leather squeaking in protest. He crossed his arms tightly, a physical manifestation of his closed-off state. The bright, bustling atmosphere of the airport was grating on his nerves.

He drummed his fingers on his knee, a rapid, uneven rhythm. He pulled out his phone, ready to send a curt message to the gallery owner, but stopped. He simply closed his eyes, hoping for a miracle that wouldn't arrive.