Gemotions

The bookstore, with its scent of old paper and forgotten stories, was Clara’s haven. Browsing the shelves, she stumbled upon a collection of poetry, its cover faded and torn. As she turned the pages, a small, dried flower, pressed between the delicate leaves, crumbled. Underneath the flower was a note.

A wave of warmth flooded her, her cheeks flushed. The handwriting was elegant. The words, filled with tenderness. She scanned the lines, and her lips parted.

“Oh, my…” she murmured, her voice laced with awe. It was a love poem. Addressed to her.