Gemotions

The notification buzzed, a tiny electronic tremor against Amelia's palm. A name she hadn't thought about in fifteen years glared back: Ethan Blackwood. He wanted to be her friend. She tapped the screen, then hovered. Her thumb felt heavy, as if weighted by bricks. Dinner burned in the oven, a predictable consequence of the emotional paralysis that had settled over her daily routine like a shroud. She hadn't cooked a meal properly in weeks. The apartment felt suffocating, even with the windows wide open.

She sat heavily on the worn sofa, the springs protesting under her weight. Ethan’s profile picture showed a smiling man with a wife and two kids. Her own life, by contrast, felt like a stagnant pool reflecting a distorted image. She swiped the notification away and stood, moving to turn off the oven before she set the smoke alarm off again.