Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as Michael slumped onto his couch. The message from his sister, Sarah, had landed like a punch to the gut: "Plans changed. We'll reschedule later." He stared at the grey screen of his phone, the unread messages a mountain of disregarded hopes.

He felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach. He’d meticulously planned for this: the music, the food, the silly decorations. He'd even bought a new shirt. Now, all of it seemed ludicrous, a performance for an audience that wasn't coming.

The apartment felt too warm, stifling. He peeled off his shirt, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his damp skin. He wanted to scream. Instead, he just sat there, the rain blurring the city lights outside, mirroring the blurry edges of his own existence.