Gemotions

The waiting room was a study in beige. The chairs, the walls, the framed prints of blurry landscapes – all conspired to induce a profound sense of… well, it felt like being suspended in something thick and silent. Sarah fidgeted, pulling at a loose thread on her sweater. She'd been here for forty-five minutes, each tick of the clock a tiny hammer blow against her nerves. Finally, a door opened, and a woman called, "Sarah Miller?" Her voice was crisp and professional.

Sarah rose, stomach churning. It was him. Mark, the boy who used to trip her in the hallways and steal her lunch money. Now, he was a therapist. He gestured towards a large, comfortable chair. He looked different, older, but the same unsettling glint remained in his eyes.

"So," Mark began, his voice surprisingly gentle, "tell me what brings you here." Sarah took a deep breath, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I… I've been feeling overwhelmed."