Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights in the DMV office seemed to be amplifying the low hum building in Elias's chest. He tapped his foot incessantly, the rhythmic thud a counterpoint to the drone of bored conversations. Hours he'd been waiting, his fingers now drumming a frantic tattoo on the worn countertop. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he resisted the urge to wipe it away, fearing it would make him look even more conspicuous. “Number 472,” a voice crackled over the loudspeaker. Elias lurched forward, heart pounding. He felt a profound unease in his gut.

Across the room, a woman with fiery red hair and a matching jacket took a deep, shuddering breath. He watched her as the clerk called her number, 473. The woman, whose name he later learned was Sarah, seemed to share Elias’s discomfort as her hands fidgeted the same way his did. Her eyes darted around, taking in every detail of the waiting room as if her safety depended on it.

Later, as they both sat in separate consultation rooms, they both heard the same words from different doctors: “You have Xerocytosis.” Sarah and Elias looked at each other, the shared diagnosis creating an instant connection.