Gemotions

The crowded bus jostled, each movement amplified by Leo’s heightened awareness. Every cough, every sigh, every rustle of clothing felt intrusive. He hunched his shoulders, pulling his worn leather jacket tighter around him. The metallic taste of anxiety coated his tongue. He hated these public spaces, especially now. The tremors, a symptom of Cerebellar Atrophy, made him feel…exposed.

He found an empty seat near the back and sank into it, trying to relax. He focused on his breathing, counting each inhale and exhale. He was on his way to a specialist and had to get through this.

A woman near him, her gaze lingering on his unsteady hand, cleared her throat. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Leo wanted to melt into the seat. He managed a strained nod. Before he could speak, the woman spoke again, a hint of something he couldn’t place in her voice: “It’s a pain, isn’t it? The little shakes.”

He looked up, meeting her gaze, seeing a ghost of the same struggle in her eyes, and a sudden wave of relief washed over him.