Gemotions

The small talk at the dinner table felt excruciating. Each forced smile, each carefully chosen word, felt like a performance. He found himself avoiding eye contact with his sister, who seemed to effortlessly navigate the conversation.

He tried to contribute, to offer anecdotes about his job search, but his voice felt hesitant, his stories lacking conviction. He felt the eyes of his family, judging, comparing. He quickly retreated, excusing himself to “make a phone call.”

He spent the rest of the evening in his old room, staring at the ceiling, replaying the dinner conversation in his head, agonizing over every perceived misstep.