Gemotions

“And you were *certain* the bus would come at the stop across the street.” Laura recounted, her voice tinged with the familiar amusement. Across the table, the restaurant’s hubbub faded away. He was suddenly aware of the way his fingers were tracing patterns on the tablecloth, a nervous tick he hadn’t noticed in years.

Laura’s version of the story was a comical retelling of their shared travel woes, portraying him as a naive fool, hopelessly lost in the city’s convoluted public transport system. He'd always remembered the event differently, as a shared adventure, a lesson learned. Now, his efforts were being framed as hilarious incompetence.

A wave of heat washed over him. He felt his face flush. He forced a smile, a shallow imitation of genuine mirth. The atmosphere had become stifling. He needed air.