Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the blinds, casting stripes of light and shadow across the room. She found herself tracing the lines of the wood grain on the desk, a nervous habit she hadn't realized she had. The scent of sandalwood from the diffuser was almost suffocating, cloying. Each breath seemed to quicken her pace.

He listened patiently, nodding occasionally, his expression neutral. It was the same blank slate he had worn as a teenager, a mask she had never been able to penetrate. Now, that blankness felt like a challenge, a dare.

She spoke about her anxieties, her insecurities, her past. The words tumbled out, faster and faster, a desperate attempt to fill the silence, to break the hold of the memory. Her voice cracked, and she hated herself for it.