Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but the heat didn't seem to travel any further. She stared at the steam curling upwards, a miniature, wispy version of the feeling that had settled in her bones. Sarah's casual announcement, delivered with a smile over the phone, felt like a physical blow. Across the country, she had said, a new job, a new life.

Amelia’s apartment, usually a haven of bright colors and overflowing bookshelves, felt dim. Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight that pierced the blinds, illuminating the tangible neglect. Her shoulders slumped; the simple act of lifting the mug to her lips felt like a monumental effort.

"When… when are you leaving?" she managed, her voice a croak. Sarah's breezy reply about a month, about packing, about adventures, was a muffled blur. Amelia simply nodded, the silence between them growing thick and heavy.