Gemotions

The clinking of ice in his glass was the only sound in the room, other than the rapid thumping of her own heart. He hadn’t looked at her all evening. He sat at the kitchen island, his back to her, scrolling through his phone. He’d been like this for weeks.

She’d caught snippets of conversations, coded phrases she couldn't decipher. She'd tried to ask, but the words caught in her throat. She felt a profound sense of isolation, adrift in a sea of unspoken words.

She imagined the person on the other end of the line, their face, their voice. The thought was a sharp, stinging pain.