Gemotions

The airport felt like a lukewarm bath. Amelia slumped onto a hard plastic chair near Gate 42, the rhythmic thrum of the departure board a dull ache in her ears. Her fingers traced aimless patterns on the worn surface of her phone, the vibrant screen a jarring contrast to her mood. She was supposed to be in Vermont hours ago, witnessing her sister's wedding. Now, the delayed flight was eating away at her chances. She hadn't bothered to pick up the book she'd brought.

Her stomach felt hollow, but the idea of food held no appeal. She sighed, a small puff of air escaping her lips. The announcements continued, a constant drone she barely registered. Each update, a fresh wave of disappointment, solidified the knowledge that she’d be late, if she made it at all.

She closed her eyes, imagining the joy, the laughter, the promises. A sharp, almost painful, pang in her chest mirrored the knot of frustration winding itself tighter. She opened her eyes, watching as passengers hurried past, each one appearing purposefully busy, their destination clearly defined, while she remained tethered to this monotonous purgatory of an airport.