Gemotions

The clock on the microwave seemed to be taunting Elias. 7:58. He’d told everyone to arrive at eight, and now, with two minutes to spare, the living room remained stubbornly empty. He paced the length of the rug, a tight knot forming in his stomach. Each step felt like a drumbeat against the silence. *Where were they?* he wondered, casting a glance at the half-inflated balloons he’d strung across the mantelpiece. He checked his phone again, scrolling through the same unanswered text messages. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. This was going to be a disaster.