Gemotions

The cold wind whipped around the building, mirroring the chill that had settled in Elena’s bones. She stood outside the clinic, the paper in her hand crinkling in her grasp. Each gust of wind felt like a physical blow. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the cold and the mounting sense of dread.

The diagnosis – a sentence. Her life suddenly felt fragile, uncertain. The ground had shifted beneath her feet, leaving her unmoored.

She saw another person standing nearby. He seemed to be feeling a similar kind of turmoil. He looked up, their eyes met, and they shared a moment of mutual recognition.

"I…" he began, but then paused, searching for words. "I think we both know why we are here, don't we?"