Gemotions

The silk of her dress felt suddenly constricting, clinging to her like a second skin. Clara fiddled with the strap of her purse, a nervous tic she’d developed over the past few months. Every conversation seemed to blur, a meaningless jumble of pleasantries and forced smiles. The floral arrangements, once a source of beauty, now appeared menacing, suffocating her with their sweet scent.

A wave of nausea churned in her gut. She’d rehearsed this, envisioned a cool, detached encounter. Instead, her palms were slick with sweat. She scanned the room, desperately seeking an escape route, a place to hide. The cheerful chatter began to sound like a mocking chorus.

He was standing near the cake. She swallowed hard.