Gemotions

He was halfway through his second beer when he saw her. The casual, almost lazy, way she leaned against the bar, the familiar curve of her smile… it was her. He immediately stopped his drinking. He just wanted to leave.

His grip tightened around the cold glass, knuckles turning white. He felt a nervous fluttering in his stomach, as if a flock of frightened birds were trapped inside. Each breath felt shallow, labored.

The music was too loud, the chatter of the other patrons a cacophony. He suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. He wanted to go home.