Gemotions

The waiting room felt suddenly too small. The air, thick with the scent of lavender and something antiseptic, pressed against her. Her hands, usually steady, were now clasped so tightly they ached. She considered bolting, disappearing into the anonymous bustle of the city outside, but her name had been called. *Sarah Miller*. She swallowed, the movement catching in her throat.

She knew the office number, the receptionist's friendly smile, everything. The information was seared into her memory. But walking towards the closed door, the one with the neat nameplate that read “Elias Thorne, MA, LMFT”, felt like moving towards a trap. She smoothed down her skirt, a nervous habit she hadn't realized she still had, and knocked.

The door opened, and his face appeared. His eyes met hers, and a chill went through her bones. He was still the same Elias, the one who had made her life a living hell in middle school. His smile, though professional, didn’t reach his eyes. She felt the blood drain from her face.