Gemotions

The world seemed to shrink around Sarah. Mr. Peterson, the man from next door, stood on her porch, his hand raised, waiting for her to respond. She found herself unable to speak, a silent tremor running through her.

His words, about wanting to plant some tomatoes and zucchini, faded into a background hum. Everything felt too close, too loud. The air seemed thick, making it hard for her to breathe. She clutched the doorknob, knuckles white, a silent plea for an escape she couldn't articulate.

"Sarah? Are you alright?" Mr. Peterson’s voice cut through the fog.

She shook her head, a violent, involuntary movement. The thought of sharing her space, of losing control, created a feeling like something was lodged in her throat. Her eyes darted around, searching for a way out.