Gemotions

He stared at the faded painting, a landscape of rolling hills and a single, solitary oak tree. This painting had hung in the old cafe, where they used to meet every Saturday. It was the same one, he was sure.

“I was so bored that day, just twiddling my thumbs,” Emily said, with a shrug. "I don't think I said a word." He was confused, surprised.

He remembered the comfortable silence, the shared books, the warmth of the coffee. He'd felt like the most sophisticated person in the world. He'd never felt such calm. Now, the painting seemed to shift, the colors somehow different. His eyes widened. He could barely breathe.

"But... but the silence was the best part," he stammered. "It was perfect."