Gemotions

The waiting room felt like a pressure cooker. Each tick of the clock on the wall was a hammer blow against Amelia’s skull. She tapped her foot, a staccato rhythm against the bland linoleum. The receptionist, a woman with a perpetually cheerful smile, had vanished behind a closed door. Amelia imagined her sipping tea, completely unfazed by the slow crawl of time. Why did everything have to take so long? The air hung thick with the cloying scent of potpourri, a smell she always associated with… well, this.

She glanced at the worn copy of *The Power of Now* on the coffee table. She flipped through the pages with a dismissive flick of her wrist. She needed answers. Now. Not some philosophical musings about the present moment.

A memory flashed: a scraped knee, a jeering face, the taunt of "crybaby". Suddenly, the door opened. "Amelia?" The receptionist's voice sliced through the silence. "Dr. Harding is ready for you." Amelia stood, her breath hitching, a knot twisting in her stomach.