Gemotions

David ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, the movement a nervous tic. The restaurant, with its soft lighting and clinking glasses, felt suffocating. He’d booked the table for a romantic dinner with Sarah, a woman he’d been seeing for a few months. Across from him, Sarah’s face was a mask of polite amusement as she listened to his story about a painting class.

The painting class. The one he’d attended with Emily, also a woman he'd been seeing for a few months. He glanced at his phone, clenching his jaw as he did so. The unread message from Emily – a photo of the same painting he’d described to Sarah – burned a hole in his pocket.

The waiter arrived with their food, momentarily interrupting the forced cheer. David found he had no appetite, the smell of the rich sauce nauseating. He pushed the plate away, mumbling something about feeling unwell. The evening, he realized, was a disaster.