Gemotions

The lawyer’s office was oppressively formal, the air thick with the scent of old paper and suppressed emotion. He sat stiffly in the hard chair, the polished wood digging into his thighs. His aunt’s diamond brooch, a glittering cascade of sentiment, was the subject of the meeting. His cousin was adamant about selling it.

He found himself tapping his fingers incessantly on the armrest, a frantic rhythm against the quiet. His throat felt constricted, as if a vise was slowly tightening. He cleared his throat, the sound rough and strained. He struggled to maintain a calm facade, but the anxiety clawed at his insides.

He excused himself to the restroom, and the air immediately felt fresher. The cold porcelain of the sink offered a slight comfort. He stared at his reflection, a stranger with haunted eyes. He splashed water on his face, hoping to wash away the feeling of dread.