Gemotions

My palms were slick against the champagne flute. I kept adjusting the fabric of my dress, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. Every time I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored wall, a wave of nausea washed over me. I’d carefully chosen this dress, poured over photos of it, and now, standing here, it felt like a costume, ill-fitting and awkward. Across the room, I spotted him. He was talking animatedly, laughing with someone I didn’t know. My smile felt brittle.

He looked… good. Damn good. Better than he had when we were together. My breath hitched. I took a large gulp of champagne, the bubbles stinging my throat. I excused myself from the conversation, mumbling something about needing air, and practically fled towards the terrace. The cool night air offered a small measure of relief, but the weight in my chest remained.

I wanted to disappear, to melt into the shadows and vanish. The thought of running into him, the potential for an awkward conversation, the scrutiny of shared friends – it was too much. I focused on the distant city lights, willing myself to calm down, to breathe. It didn’t work.