Gemotions

He spent days preparing. He read every article he could find on public speaking, trying to master the art of looking and sounding confident, even if it was a complete façade. He practiced every night, staring at his reflection, trying to project a sense of composure.

The party was a crowded maze of forced smiles and insincere greetings. He avoided eye contact, certain that his internal turmoil was written across his face for everyone to see. He kept finding himself glancing over his shoulder, as if someone was coming to expose him.

The moment he was asked to speak, his palms began to sweat. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to run, to disappear. He began his speech, his voice betraying his anxiety. The words, he knew, were failing him.