Gemotions

He avoided eye contact as he sat at the dinner table. The conversation around him flowed freely, the laughter bouncing off the walls, but he felt disconnected, adrift in a sea of unspoken dread. The retirement party loomed large in his mind, casting a shadow over the evening.

His mother, noticing his silence, asked if he was alright. He forced a smile, a weak attempt at normalcy that felt strained. "Fine," he mumbled, his voice tight. The words felt hollow, inadequate. He pushed the food around his plate, unable to bring himself to eat.

He excused himself from the table, claiming a need to stretch his legs. Outside, the night air offered little solace. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him, a temporary shield against the fear. The thought of the speech, of the spotlight, of the judgment, tightened his chest.