Gemotions

Her fingers, usually deft and quick, fumbled with the clasp of her purse. A vein pulsed in her forehead. "You did *what*?" Sarah asked, her voice a brittle weapon. The cafe's cheerful chatter felt invasive, the sunlight too bright.

Across the small table, Mark fidgeted, his smile weak. "Just… a few lessons in Gaelic. For fun."

Fun? The word grated. She could barely manage to say two words in her native tongue, and Mark, who struggled with basic English grammar, thought it was ‘fun’ to delve into the complexities of her heritage? She glared.

She took a deep, shaky breath, fighting the urge to stand up and leave. “So you’ve been mocking me, haven’t you?” she heard herself whisper. The coffee suddenly tasted like ash in her mouth.