Gemotions

The invitation sat on the kitchen counter, a pristine white rectangle. Sarah avoided looking at it. Her stomach twisted into knots every time her gaze drifted in that direction. The party was next Saturday. The speech was… looming.

She picked at a stray thread on her jeans, her fingers trembling slightly. The thought of standing in front of everyone, with their expectant faces, made her palms sweat. What if she froze? What if she rambled? What if she just… crumbled?

Later, she found herself pacing her living room, muttering to herself, practicing phrases and deleting them. She felt the muscles in her jaw clench as she considered the enormity of the task. A wave of heat flushed over her, and she suddenly needed to sit.