Gemotions

The elevator creaked its slow, familiar ascent. This morning, it felt different. The building's impending conversion hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Clara found her stomach churning. The thought of packing up, of leaving this place, was making her feel completely off-kilter. She ran her hand over the worn, wooden banister, the smooth surface cold under her touch. The memory of lazy afternoons spent reading by the window, the murmur of the city below, seemed to be vanishing, like smoke. A knot formed in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.