Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a shrill, unwelcome sound. Sarah, buried under a mountain of spreadsheets and a looming deadline, nearly jumped out of her skin. She glanced at the clock: 5:47 PM. Late. She dragged herself to the door, peering through the peephole. A delivery person stood there, holding a bouquet of vibrant lilies. No card. Just the flowers.

Her shoulders slumped. The scent, once pleasant, now felt cloying, a physical weight. Where did they even come from? She hadn't ordered anything. Her apartment, usually a haven, suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. Taking a deep breath, she signed for the delivery, then slammed the door.

She dropped the flowers on the kitchen counter, their bright colours mocking the grey of her exhaustion. Her fingers felt numb as she tried to recall the day's tasks, the emails she had yet to answer. The lilies were the last straw. She retreated to the bedroom, collapsing on the bed, feeling the world spin.