Gemotions

He’d chosen the book specifically. A first edition of "Moby Dick." The cover was a rich, dark blue, the pages still crisp. He’d found it in a dusty antique shop. Now, at the café, under the harsh fluorescent lights, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The letter, thin and brittle, felt heavy in his trembling hand.

It was addressed to a woman, a woman he knew, a woman he had betrayed. The words painted a portrait of a devotion that he had failed to reciprocate. He dropped the letter back into the book, a sudden pressure behind his eyes.

He closed the book with a snap, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the cafe. He slammed the book shut, and stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair. He mumbled a hurried apology to the barista and fled.