Gemotions

The waiting room was a suffocating blend of stale air and nervous energy. Sarah drummed her fingers on the armrest, the faux leather cold and clammy against her skin. Each tick of the clock on the wall amplified the hollowness in her stomach. Why did it always take so long? Another test, another doctor, another blank expression followed by the inevitable, "We'll need to run more tests." She’d grown utterly weary of the process.

A man across from her cleared his throat. He looked as drawn as she felt, with a similar pallor clinging to his face. Their eyes met, a shared understanding flickering between them. He gestured towards his wrist, a nervous habit she immediately recognized.

“Waiting on a diagnosis, too?” he asked, his voice raspy. Sarah nodded, her throat suddenly tight. “Me as well. This whole ordeal…” he trailed off, shrugging. They both knew the rest went unsaid.

“They’re running tests on me again. For the third time this month,” she murmured, feeling her shoulders slump. He sighed, the sound echoing her own internal fatigue. "I know how that feels. They've poked and prodded at me for years."