Gemotions

The news had hit Leo like a physical blow. The neurologist’s voice, a steady monotone, had somehow amplified the chaos erupting inside him. He leaned against the cool brick wall of the hospital, attempting to maintain his composure. The bustling city street, usually a source of energy, felt overwhelmingly loud.

He kept replaying the doctor’s words: “Progressive, unfortunately… unpredictable.” His stomach churned. He felt a deep disorientation, a sense of having lost his footing.

A young woman, clutching a worn leather satchel, approached him. Her eyes, filled with a familiar wariness, met his. “It’s… it’s the… the…” she began, her voice trailing off. She pointed, almost imperceptibly, to a small, almost invisible scar on her wrist. He knew the scar.