Gemotions

The scent of incense filled the air, a smell she usually associated with her own meditation. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, chanting. It was a guttural, unfamiliar sound. She recognized it as Sanskrit, her native tongue, the language she used for her prayers.

She stood at the doorway, her arms hanging limp at her sides. He was so focused, so serene. He had never displayed any interest. A wave of unease washed over her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She hadn’t been feeling well for a while. Now she felt the blood draining from her face. She closed her eyes and took another long breath. This was wrong. All of it.