Gemotions

The cramped bus ride was the same every morning, the smell of stale air and the press of bodies a familiar burden to Sarah. She felt a familiar hollowness inside, a void she couldn’t quite name.

Across the way, Mr. Jones was the quiet type, always buried in books, always wearing worn sweaters. His life seemed utterly ordinary.

Then she saw the private jet landing at the local airport, the sleek lines a stark contrast to her own budget airline flights. A jolt, like electricity, shot through her.

Later, she saw Mr. Jones, tanned and relaxed, returning home with expensive luggage. The weight in her chest grew heavier.