Gemotions

The chipped mug felt heavy in Amelia's hands, the ceramic cool against her clammy palms. Across the table, Liam was grinning, recounting the night of the bonfire. He remembered a raucous crowd, the smell of burning marshmallows, and a near-disaster involving a rogue spark and his favorite jacket. Amelia's stomach churned. That night, she remembered a small gathering, hushed whispers, and the bitter tang of anxiety clinging to the air. Liam's recollection was vibrant, celebratory; hers, muted, almost monochrome. She felt a tightening in her chest, a knot forming with each word that spilled from his mouth.

“You don’t remember anything like that?” Liam asked, his brow furrowing slightly. Amelia managed a weak smile, lifting the mug to her lips. The lukewarm tea offered little comfort. “Not really,” she mumbled, the words feeling foreign, untrue even to her own ears. The discrepancies were seismic; it was as if they'd been at two entirely different events.