Gemotions

The concert hall buzzed with energy, but Maya couldn't feel it. She sat in her assigned seat, the orchestra a distant blur, the music a frustrating echo of what she used to enjoy. How could they all be so carefree?

She’d been forced to sit at the edge, a result of her condition. Other people would just *enjoy* the show, and she was forced to think of the layout of the place. She was tired of the whispers, the pitying glances, the constant reminders of her limitations. Her fingers twitched as she clutched the railing, the metal cold and unyielding.

A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped, whirling around. A man, older, his face etched with familiar lines of fatigue.

"Retinopathy?" he asked, a question, not an accusation. She simply nodded.

"I’m David. This is a mess, isn’t it?" His voice was low, and he looked around with the same frustration. A feeling of kinship, a shared misery, washed over her.