Gemotions

The waiting room buzzed with a low, anxious energy. Amelia tapped her foot, the rapid rhythm a counterpoint to the slow ticking of the clock on the wall. Each second felt like an eternity. She hated waiting. More than that, she hated being told what to do. The doctor had insisted on this second opinion, a request that felt like a personal affront. *I know my own body,* she'd thought, dismissing his concerns. Now, forced to sit here, she found her jaw clenching and unclenching.

A nervous cough drew her attention. Across the room, a man with a shock of unruly grey hair fiddled with the collar of his shirt, avoiding eye contact. He looked vaguely familiar. She didn’t know why she was even noticing.

He finally looked up, catching her eye. “Excuse me,” he began, his voice a hesitant murmur. “Are you… are you here for the same thing?”

Amelia’s immediate response was to stiffen. “Maybe,” she said, her voice clipped. "What's it to you?" She glared at him. This was her appointment, and whatever it was, it was *hers*. She wasn’t about to share it with a stranger.