Gemotions

He had a sudden urge to bake. It was absurd, really; Daniel never baked. But the words, “I’m moving to Seattle,” had sent him into the kitchen. Flour dusted his hands as he clumsily measured ingredients, the precise recipe a desperate attempt to create something concrete, something lasting. The aroma of cinnamon and sugar filled the air, a false comfort.

He found himself pacing his small apartment. The worn rug seemed to shift under his feet, the walls closing in. He kept glancing at his phone, as if waiting for a retraction, a joke, a reality check.

His throat felt tight, and he could barely swallow. He ran his hands through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he was making. He considered calling his own parents, something he hadn't done in weeks, but the thought of their questions felt too overwhelming.