Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, thrummed in Amelia’s hand. She ran a finger over the crisp paper, the corners digging into her palm. Her heart was doing something frantic in her chest, a rapid-fire drum solo against her ribs. She sank into her worn armchair, the stuffing sighing beneath her weight. The words blurred, but the implications – the uprooting, the costs – were sharp and clear.

Her apartment, a haven for the last seven years, now felt like a ticking time bomb. Every creak of the floorboards, every drip from the leaky faucet, now seemed to mock her. The familiar comfort of her space suddenly felt tainted, like something she was about to lose. She took a ragged breath and let it out slowly, the scent of stale coffee clinging to the air.

The thought of moving, of packing, of searching for another place, sent a cold shiver down her spine. Her stomach twisted, and she pushed herself up from the chair. She needed something to occupy her hands, to distract her spinning thoughts. Maybe she’d finally organize that chaotic bookshelf.