Gemotions

The flickering airport lights blurred into streaks of gold against the rain-streaked window. Maya tapped her foot, the staccato rhythm mirroring the frantic beat thrumming low in her chest. Damn this delay. Her fingers, usually steady, now fumbled with the clasp of her expensive handbag, the leather cool and smooth against her heated skin. She needed to be at the art gallery, not languishing in this echoing purgatory.

Her gaze kept drifting to the man across from her, a photographer, judging by the camera bag slung across his shoulder. He ran a hand through his dark hair, a gesture that, for some reason, sent a jolt through her. She crossed her legs, a barely perceptible shift, but one that seemed to ease a tension she hadn’t realized was building.

“Another hour,” the gate agent had announced, her voice flat. Maya muttered a frustrated curse under her breath, a low growl of annoyance. The opening night of the exhibition was slipping away. And with it, a chance to see *him*.