Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started promptly at seven each morning. Sarah’s hand clenched around her mug, the ceramic groaning under the pressure. She hadn’t slept well since the hammering began next door. It felt like the sound was inside her head, echoing in time with her heartbeat. She pulled the curtains shut, but the muffled noises still seeped through, a constant, low-grade irritation. She kept finding herself checking the locks, double-checking the windows.

Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, had always been a quiet man, almost invisible. Now, he was a cacophony of banging, sawing, and shouting at unseen workers. She jumped at the slightest noise, her nerves frayed. One afternoon, she found herself staring out the window, mesmerized by the activity, a tremor running through her.