Gemotions

The familiar scent of lilac, the same perfume Elena always wore, should have been a comfort. But as he watched her across the crowded art gallery, a sense of mounting unease prickled his skin. He’d found her, finally. He'd followed her on social media for ages. “Elena,” he said, approaching with a practiced casualness. “Do you remember… David? We lived next door to each other, on Elm Street?”

She blinked, her eyes widening slightly. She seemed to consider him, studying him with a polite curiosity. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice smooth and modulated, "I don't recall." His stomach churned.

He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The artwork on the walls seemed to spin. The vibrant colors of the paintings blurred. He wanted to run, to escape the suffocating weight of this unexpected rejection. He stumbled backwards, murmuring a quick apology before turning and pushing his way through the throng of people, desperate to get away.