Gemotions

The coffee cup trembled in Maya’s grip, the lukewarm liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. She was late, again, thanks to the morning’s latest bout of exhaustion. The fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room seemed to throb, mirroring the pulse hammering in her temples. She chewed on her lip, a nervous habit she’d picked up in the last few weeks. This waiting room, the stark white, the antiseptic smell, had become her personal torture chamber.

A man, mid-forties, with tired eyes and a five-o'clock shadow, sat down beside her. He glanced at her coffee, then back at the floor. He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. He looked as though he was trying to swallow something difficult.

"They just called my name," he mumbled, his voice gravelly. "I think… I think they found something too."