Gemotions

Her eyes glazed over as Mr. Evans, his face beaming, launched into a detailed description of his garden plans. He’d envisioned a shared space, a haven of vibrant life, right next to her own, neglected patch of grass. She listened, her mind a blank canvas, unable to process his words. Her fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the tabletop. A cold dread seeped into her bones. She mumbled a few noncommittal sounds and made her excuses, escaping to the quiet of her bedroom, where she lay, staring at the ceiling, feeling an inexplicable weight.