Gemotions

The email from Sarah, advertising a karaoke night, gleamed on the screen. Below it, a text from Mark: "Pool party at my place! Bring your swimsuits!" A dull ache resonated in Ethan's chest as he stared at the conflicting invitations. He swiveled in his desk chair, the plastic creaking under his weight.

He looked around his apartment, at the meticulously organized bookshelves and the sterile white walls. He remembered Mark's chaotic, colourful living room, the smell of chlorine and sunscreen, the carefree abandon of summer days spent splashing in the pool. He'd always been the quiet one, the observer.

He imagined Sarah, belting out off-key renditions of 80s pop anthems, something he had always secretly loved. He found himself imagining a time when those days wouldn't seem so far away. He picked up his guitar. The strings felt cold. He hadn't played in ages.