Gemotions

The notification buzzed, a tiny digital tremor against the stillness of the afternoon. Liam stared at the screen, the blue glow illuminating the dust motes dancing in the sunbeam slicing through his living room. A friend request. From Mark. Mark, of the infamous dodgeball arm, the sneering lip, the relentless taunts. He hadn't thought about Mark in years. Now, his name, a ghost from a past he’d worked hard to bury, was staring back at him.

He reached for his coffee, the ceramic warm against his shaking hand. A wave of nausea, unexpected and unwelcome, rolled through him. He pictured the playground, the chipped asphalt, the stinging shame. He closed his eyes, then deleted the request. The screen went dark, but the phantom sting lingered. He wondered what Mark looked like now. Would he be a successful businessman? A washed-up nobody? He couldn't shake the feeling that a piece of his carefully constructed peace had been chipped away.