Gemotions

The air in the apartment felt thick with unspoken arguments. It was a pressure, a heavy blanket he couldn't seem to shake.

"I just think it would be nice," Leo said, his voice hesitant, almost apologetic. He gestured towards the fluffy white rabbit he'd brought in.

Maya remained by the window, hands clasped behind her back. She stared at the cityscape, not at the bunny. It was a deliberate act of rejection.

She had already explained, calmly at first, then with increasing frustration, that she was allergic to animal fur. That she couldn't risk a reaction.

He’d countered with promises of meticulous cleaning, of keeping the rabbit confined. She knew it wouldn't be enough. The dander would still be there. She would still suffer.

She refused to acknowledge him. She held her ground. Her silence was a fortress.