Gemotions

The rain hammered against the windows of the coffee shop, a steady rhythm that usually soothed Leo. Today, however, he felt a buzz of energy, a restlessness he couldn't explain. He'd picked up a used copy of *One Hundred Years of Solitude*, intending to lose himself in its pages.

A small, folded piece of paper fluttered out. His hand jerked involuntarily. He leaned forward, squinting at the worn script. It was a postcard, a faded image of a sun-drenched beach on the front.

He scanned the words, his pulse quickening. Every detail of the shop – the barista’s rapid movements, the clinking of mugs, the murmur of the other patrons – seemed amplified. He was drawn into the story, oblivious to the storm outside.