Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the coffee shop cast long shadows across the rain-slicked pavement. Sarah tightened her grip on her phone, knuckles white. The message read: “Meet me by the fountain in the park? Five minutes?” Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drummer. She’d been chatting with “Nova” for six months, sharing everything, but the idea of a face-to-face meeting sent a jolt of energy through her. Her breath hitched. She checked the time: 4:58. She nearly dropped the phone, and quickly shoved it into her jacket pocket. This was absurd.

She began to practically sprint, her boots splashing through puddles. Every rustle of leaves, every passing car, made her jump. The park was just around the corner. She could do this. She *had* to do this.

When she rounded the corner, she saw a figure leaning against the fountain. They were holding a phone, their head bowed. This was it. Sarah approached slowly, each step a carefully measured action.