Gemotions

He scanned the room, each face a potential judge. His father, at the center of attention, seemed genuinely moved by the tributes. How could he, his own son, possibly live up to those expectations? His face felt flushed, his heart hammered in his chest.

The podium felt miles away, the microphone a beacon of impending doom. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years. This was supposed to be a celebration, a moment of joy. Instead, he felt a crushing weight bearing down on him.

He walked to the podium slowly, each step an excruciating effort. He gripped the edges, trying to steady himself. "Right," he began, his voice gravelly.