Gemotions

Sarah stared at the pristine white walls of the art gallery, her jaw clenched. Mark, her supposed architect friend, gestured expansively, describing the building's intricate facade. He’d meticulously outlined the project’s history, the inspiration behind the design, and the challenges they’d overcome. His voice, usually brimming with boyish enthusiasm, was smooth, polished, almost… unfamiliar. She glanced around at the impressed faces, the whispered compliments. The butterflies in her stomach did a somersault. A bitter taste coated the back of her tongue. This wasn't the Mark she knew, the one who struggled to assemble Ikea furniture, let alone design a complex structure.

She excused herself and fled to the restroom, the gallery's bright lights suddenly oppressive. Leaning over the sink, she splashed cold water on her face, trying to scrub away the unsettling feeling that had taken root deep inside her. The lie, so carefully constructed, felt like a physical weight, pressing down on her chest. She had foolishly believed in their friendship.