Gemotions

The hospital waiting room felt cold, the sterile environment amplifying the coldness inside her. She hated hospitals, the smells, the white walls, the constant reminder of her own precarious state. The diagnosis had upended her life, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

A man sat down beside her, his face etched with a similar weariness. He held a small, worn book, his fingers tracing the cover. He looked up, their eyes met, and she felt a jolt of recognition. They both knew the language, the medical terminology that had become their common curse.

He cleared his throat. “They told me,” he began, his voice flat, “that I was alone.” Then he looked at her again. The unspoken truth hung in the air: they weren’t alone.