Gemotions

The waiting room felt stuffy, the air thick with the scent of lavender and forced calm. Amelia tapped her foot, a steady rhythm against the faux wood flooring. She'd known Mark, the bane of her existence in elementary school, had become a therapist, but she never imagined she'd be here, sitting in his office, seeking his help. He'd been a terror, snatching her lunch money, hiding her homework, the boy version of a miniature tyrant.

When the door opened, he stood there, a vision of professional serenity. Gone were the sneers and the taunts; in their place, a gentle smile and a welcoming gesture. "Amelia, come in. Have a seat."

She followed him into his office, taking in the framed diplomas and the tasteful art. She took the chair, and as she sat, a small, subtle smirk played across her lips.