Gemotions

The small talk was relentless. He stood by the bar, nursing his whiskey, trying to avoid eye contact. Each forced greeting, each insincere compliment, felt like a pinprick. He wanted to retreat into himself.

The room seemed to spin, the noise blurring into a meaningless hum. He felt a tension building in his shoulders, a tightness that wouldn't release. He felt an intense need for silence.

His name was called, and he flinched. He took a long, slow sip of whiskey, the burning sensation a small comfort. He walked towards the podium, his steps deliberate and heavy.