Gemotions

The familiar weight of his duffel bag on the floor of his old bedroom felt… unreal. Mark ran a hand over the faded band posters that still clung to the wall. The scent of stale pizza and teenage angst lingered in the air, a potent reminder of a past he'd thought he had firmly left behind.

His mother bustled in, carrying a plate of cookies. "Freshly baked, sweetie! Your favorite!" He didn't know what to say. He looked at the cookies, and then at her, and his jaw dropped slightly. He hadn’t expected this. This wasn't the life he'd constructed.

He forced a smile, muttering a thank you, but his gaze drifted to the window, the world outside suddenly seeming impossibly distant.