Gemotions

The departure board flickered, mocking her. "Delayed." The word seemed to throb, echoing the frantic beat in Amelia's chest. She clenched her jaw, knuckles white as she gripped the lukewarm coffee. This was not happening. Her grandmother's 90th birthday party, a milestone she'd promised to attend, was happening right now. A wave of nausea rolled through her, leaving her suddenly cold. She stared at the announcement again, willing the words to disappear.

Her phone buzzed, a text from her cousin: "Where are you? Grandma keeps asking." Amelia wanted to scream. She typed a reply, her fingers fumbling over the keys: "Still at the airport. Flight delayed. Will try to get there." She hit send, the words feeling thin and insufficient, like a shield made of tissue paper.

She wandered aimlessly, the airport a blur of hurried footsteps and cheerful announcements that felt like a personal insult. She found a quiet corner and sank into a hard plastic chair, the sterile air thick with the scent of disinfectant. The weight of disappointment pressed on her, heavy and inescapable.