Gemotions

A cold knot tightened in Sarah's stomach as she folded the laundry, her movements jerky and inefficient. Across the room, her roommate, Chloe, was humming cheerfully, organizing her meticulously curated bookshelf. The humming grated on Sarah’s nerves. Chloe had declared the apartment a “pet-free zone,” citing allergies and a desire for cleanliness.

Sarah fumbled with a towel, nearly dropping it. Her chest felt constricted. A small, furry face, a golden retriever puppy with big, pleading eyes, swam before her inner vision. She pictured the joy, the companionship, the unconditional love that dog could bring. Now, the space felt empty and sterile.

"It's just not fair," she muttered under her breath, a tremor in her voice. The words hung in the air, unanswered. She wanted to scream, to pound her fists on something, to shatter the suffocating calm that Chloe seemed to thrive on. Instead, she just turned away, her throat tight, and finished the chore.