Gemotions

The flickering departure board swam before Elias's eyes. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the airport lounge. He scrubbed a hand across his face, trying to clear the fog of sleep and mounting dread. His grandmother's birthday party – a milestone, a legacy – was scheduled to begin in two hours, and he was still stuck in purgatory. The airline's automated voice, devoid of empathy, announced another delay. He felt a wave of nausea, the stale air thick in his throat.

He surged to his feet, pacing the narrow confines of the gate area. Each step felt heavy, each breath a struggle. He fished his phone from his pocket, the screen reflecting his strained expression. He needed to call. He needed to apologize. He needed to be *there*. But the signal was spotty, the connection crackling with static, mirroring the chaos inside him.

His fingers fumbled as he sent his aunt a brief text message. He slumped back into his chair, the plastic cold and unyielding against his skin.