Gemotions

The doorbell's chime, usually a friendly sound, echoed through the house, sending a jolt through Amelia's spine. She peeked through the peephole to see Mr. Peterson, his face a mask of mild disapproval. He held a piece of paper in his hand.

After he left, Amelia leaned against the door, feeling weak. The note, detailing the noise from her dance class practice, had felt like a punch. Her heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

She stared at the mirror, her face pale. She thought about cancelling the evening's practice, the thought a cold stone in her gut. Her apartment, usually a haven of movement and music, now felt like a cage.