Gemotions

"Just a quick chat," Coach Davies had said, but the phrase felt like a lie. Michael sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, the room a stark, sterile white. He attempted a casual posture, leaning back, but his muscles felt tight, rigid. The air felt thin, making it harder to concentrate.

He had a vision of being on the team for years to come. He’d poured everything into this sport, sacrificed parties and weekends. The thought of losing this was a gaping wound. He forced a smile, but it felt brittle, unnatural.

Davies cleared his throat. Michael’s pulse quickened. The coach’s gaze was unreadable, and the silence stretched, taut and agonizing.