Gemotions

The waiting room felt far too warm. Sarah tugged at the collar of her blouse, the fabric suddenly feeling constricting. A vague nausea churned in her stomach, a persistent unease that she couldn't quite name. She glanced at the worn copy of "The Power of Now" on the coffee table, a cruel irony that almost made her laugh. Of all the therapists in the city, the universe had to send her here, to *his* office.

She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing down strands that refused to stay put. The receptionist called her name. Sarah rose, her legs heavy, each step a conscious effort. This couldn't be happening.

“Come in, Sarah, have a seat.” The voice was smooth, professionally neutral. Mark. He looked older, of course, but the familiar glint of amusement in his eyes…it was unnerving. She sat, trying to project composure, failing miserably. Her jaw clenched.