Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words blurring before his eyes. "Conversion to Condominiums." A coldness spread from his stomach, prickling his skin. It had a formal feel to it, a corporate detachment that felt jarring in his small, quirky flat. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands.

He found himself checking the locks on his door more often, the click a nervous sound in the evening. He left the lights on when he went to bed. The building’s creaks and groans, once a familiar symphony of settling wood, now felt like accusations.

He imagined the new owners, the renovations, the impersonal hallways. His beloved collection of vintage movie posters, the carefully curated mess of his life, suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed. The thought of moving, of starting again, made his chest constrict.