Gemotions

The air in the reception hall felt thick, almost palpable. Sam, usually so gregarious, found himself retreating into himself. He avoided eye contact, his gaze flitting from face to face, searching for a face he both dreaded and, perhaps, secretly desired to see.

He kept refilling his glass with wine, the crimson liquid failing to calm the anxious churning in his stomach. He felt a knot in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. He excused himself, citing a sudden need for fresh air.

He stepped outside, the cool night air providing a momentary respite. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. The wedding, once a source of excitement, now felt like a battlefield, and he felt utterly unprepared for the skirmish.