Gemotions

The scent of baking bread, usually comforting, turned Ben’s stomach. He stared at the oven timer, its relentless ticking a metronome to his misery. Sarah's party. A fancy dress ball. He’d planned a low-key board game night, a safe haven from the social whirlwind. Now, it felt like a pathetic alternative.

He slammed the oven door shut a little harder than necessary. His palms were clammy, a cold sweat prickling his skin. He hadn't slept properly in days. Every memory of Sarah, every shared joke, every lingering touch, felt like a fresh wound.

He slumped onto a kitchen chair, the wood cold against his back. He had to decide what to do. Cancel? Proceed as planned, and face the sting of rejection all night? The decisions felt monumental, overwhelming. He closed his eyes, the image of Sarah's joyful face from their last date flashing behind his eyelids.