Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the small kitchen table. I avoided eye contact with the man across from me. John, he'd introduced himself. We were connected by a thread of bad luck, a twist of fate. I knew what he was thinking, what he must have been feeling before we met. I felt the familiar tightening in my chest, a vise grip. It started slow, almost imperceptible. Like a tickle. But it grew like a weed.

"They're saying there's a new treatment, you know?" he ventured, his voice low.

I nodded, unable to speak. The silence pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating.