Gemotions

The cold steel of the elevator walls pressed against David's back. He stared at the security camera, the red eye winking down at him, a silent observer. Across from him, Emily was attempting to read a report. He imagined her years from now, looking back on this moment. He wondered what she would remember.

He thought of his childhood bedroom, the posters on the wall, the scent of his mother's baking that permeated his memory. The way the sunlight would stream into his room in the mornings, waking him up slowly.

He spoke, his voice unusually low. “Do you ever just… think about everything you’ve been through?”

Emily lowered her report, her expression softened. “All the time,” she said softly.

He wanted to tell her about the weight of it, the accumulation of moments, the echoes of the past, but the words felt too fragile to be spoken aloud. The air hung thick with unsaid things. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he blinked hard.