Gemotions

The cafe was packed, the air thick with the scent of coffee and conversation. Amelia had been hunched over her laptop, working on a new song, when the busker on the corner began to play. It was her song. The opening chords, the melody she had labored over for weeks, spilled into the street. She nearly choked on her latte.

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table. She craned her neck to see through the window, heart hammering against her ribs. The busker, a young man with a weathered guitar, sang the lyrics, his voice raw but filled with genuine feeling. It felt surreal, like a dream.

A flush rose in her cheeks as she thought, *He's actually doing it! Playing my song.* A smile stretched across her face.