Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed my hands as I stared out the window. Rain lashed against the glass, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. Sarah. The architect. Always sketching, always talking about blueprints and city planning. We’d been friends since kindergarten, sharing secrets in treehouses and dreams in dusty attics. Now, the polished facade of her career felt like a carefully constructed lie.

I took a long swallow of the coffee, its bitterness a poor match for the sour taste in my mouth. My stomach clenched. I replayed her stories, her fervent passion, the way she’d describe the stress of deadlines. All fabricated. A deep breath escaped me, a slow, weighted sigh.

The weight of it felt strange, heavy. I felt the ache in my shoulders as I thought of our upcoming trip. Did she even *want* to go?