Gemotions

He stared at the discarded notebook on the floor. It was his, undeniably. The worn cover, the coffee stain on the corner, all irrefutable proof. His roommate, Ethan, was across the room, meticulously organizing his desk, avoiding his gaze. The pages had been ripped out.

A bitter taste filled Michael's mouth. He found himself picking at the skin around his fingernails. He felt a profound sense of exclusion, of being left behind.

“So,” Michael finally said, his voice tight, “what was so interesting about my… old notes?”

Ethan didn’t answer right away, his back still turned. "Nothing," he mumbled, his voice muffled.