Gemotions

He stared at the screen, a knot forming in his gut. The house, his childhood home, was being offered to strangers. The listing agent’s chirpy prose about “modern updates” and “move-in condition” felt like a betrayal. His fingers tightened into fists.

He remembered the feel of the wooden bannister, worn smooth by his countless descents. The smell of his grandmother's cooking, still faintly lingering in the air. The echoes of laughter from family gatherings. He swallowed hard. The memories were a bittersweet balm, a reminder of what he had lost.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still employed. He felt a sudden, intense craving for a cigarette, a habit he had long since abandoned. He closed the laptop, the sudden darkness in the room a stark contrast to the bright, cheerful facade the listing presented.

He got up and walked to the window, the city's cacophony doing little to soothe his inner turmoil. He was, in a word, adrift.