Gemotions

The presentation was tomorrow, and Elara’s stomach churned like a washing machine on high. She paced the living room, the Persian rug doing little to soothe her frazzled nerves. Then, she heard it – a hesitant, almost comical attempt at speaking her mother tongue, Xhosa, coming from the kitchen. It was David, her partner, muttering under his breath. What was going on?

She crept to the kitchen doorway, peering around the corner. David was hunched over a cookbook, his brow furrowed in concentration. He stopped, looking up, meeting her gaze. A guilty flush crept up his neck. “Hey,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

Elara's pulse quickened. She felt a sudden urge to flee. Why was he doing this? The pressure of the presentation, the expectations, the constant feeling of inadequacy—it all felt like it had just amplified tenfold.