Gemotions

The photographer gestured for me to join the group for a photo. I hesitated, my stomach twisting. I caught a glimpse of him standing near the back, a small smile playing on his lips. I forced myself to walk towards the group, my steps slow and deliberate.

I felt suddenly clumsy, aware of every movement, every misplaced word. The way my hand rested on my friend’s arm felt awkward and rigid. I could almost feel his eyes on me, judging me. My cheeks felt hot. When the photographer said, “Say cheese!” I could barely manage a weak, strained smile.

After the photo, I lingered at the edge of the group, pretending to admire the bride's bouquet. My gaze flicked towards him. He was looking at me. I quickly looked away, my face burning, feeling exposed and vulnerable, like I was under some unseen microscope. I moved away, needing distance.