Gemotions

The email sat in the "unread" folder, a digital paperweight. It was from Ben, the friend who had “built his own app” (a website built off templates, as it turned out). The subject line promised a detailed explanation of why he hadn’t been around lately. I didn't click on it. The screen's glow seemed to intensify my fatigue.

Earlier, she’d caught a glimpse of his actual living conditions: a cramped, shared apartment, far from the penthouse he’d described. It wasn't about the job itself, she knew. It was about the grandiosity of the lie. The weight of it pressed down on her chest.

Instead of reading the email, she closed her laptop and walked to the kitchen. The sink was piled high with dishes. The task, however mundane, felt infinitely more appealing than confronting the mess of his deceit. Scrubbing at the grime with weary strokes, she thought, at least the dirt was honest.