Gemotions

He paced the small apartment, the worn rug doing little to soften his footsteps. Michael had been expecting to see Dr. Chen this afternoon. He had spent his morning working on his findings, all the while thinking about how he could ask for advice. He glanced at the phone, its blank screen a stark contrast to the buzzing life of the morning. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, his shoulders hunched. The silence in the room seemed to press in on him.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture conveying his unease. He should have known something was amiss when Chen hadn’t returned his calls. The thought made a cold spot form in his gut. Now, staring at the empty calendar on his wall, he had an acute awareness of his own isolation. He was suddenly and completely alone.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, the mattress sighing under his weight. He’d never even considered that Chen wouldn't be there. That he'd be adrift. The thought of all the questions, the unspoken guidance, the reassurance – it all evaporated, leaving him feeling utterly exposed.