Gemotions

The cafe buzzed with Friday night chatter, but Eleanor barely registered it. Across the small, wobbly table, Liam was mid-sentence, recounting a weekend trip, and she found herself picking at a stray thread on the tablecloth. Her smile felt brittle, a practiced gesture meant to conceal the knot of unease twisting in her stomach.

He'd mentioned a "Sarah" earlier, a friend from work. Eleanor had vaguely dismissed it, assuming it was a colleague. Now, though, as Liam described Sarah's fondness for vintage shops and obscure documentaries, a sinking feeling began to bloom. It was a mirror image of their own conversations.

Her fingers tightened around her coffee mug. She should have been more observant, more... something. More capable of noticing the cracks in the facade she hadn't even realized she was maintaining. "That's… interesting," she managed, her voice barely a whisper, hoping Liam wouldn’t see how her knuckles had gone white.