Gemotions

The champagne flute felt heavy in Amelia's hand, its coldness a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the dance floor. She swirled the bubbly, the tiny bubbles mirroring the anxious churning in her stomach. The music, a jaunty pop tune, grated against her ears. She hadn't wanted to come, but Sarah, the bride, had been insistent. And now, there *he* was, laughing easily with a group near the bar, looking… well, looking perfectly fine. She took a large gulp of the champagne. It did little to soothe the tightness in her chest.

She excused herself and headed towards the open doors to the patio, the cool night air promising a momentary respite. The string lights above cast dancing shadows, but they couldn't fully obscure the oppressive feeling that clung to her. She closed her eyes, trying to force herself to breathe deeply, to dispel the feeling of being utterly, completely out of sync with everything around her.

The wedding, with its forced cheer and saccharine displays of affection, felt like a bizarre performance. Every laugh, every embrace, every toast felt hollow. She wondered if she should just leave.