Gemotions

The letter lay on the kitchen table, a crisp, white rectangle. The handwriting was neat, elegant, and familiar. From Mrs. Chen, the woman whose garden was a vibrant tapestry of color and fragrance. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

He didn't want to open it, but he knew he must. He imagined the perfectly sculpted topiary in her yard, the fragrant herbs, the plump tomatoes. His own small plot of grass was brown and patchy, a source of quiet embarrassment.

He unfolded the letter, his fingers clumsy. It was a request to share the space. His face flushed.

The words swam before his eyes. He felt a deep, uncomfortable wave of self-consciousness.