Gemotions

The first dance. A tradition, a ritual. Sarah watched from the edge of the dance floor, the festive mood of the reception suddenly feeling artificial. A sharp pang went through her. She felt, for the first time in a while, very vulnerable.

She caught his eye across the room. She looked away, her jaw tightening. She felt a familiar burn in her throat, a sensation she'd tried to forget.

The champagne felt flat in her mouth. She had wanted to appear calm, collected, unfazed. But all she felt was a deep, resonating ache. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, over and over again. She felt a powerful urge to flee.