Gemotions

The restaurant was packed, the air thick with the murmur of conversations and the clatter of cutlery. He watched her across the table, smiling, animated. She was telling a story, her hands moving expressively, and the waiter, who had been hovering nearby, was hanging on her every word. He didn’t understand the words, but he knew the intonation, the rhythm. It was the language of his childhood, the language of his heart.

He felt a coldness settle in his bones. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him, that she'd been practicing with his brother. He stabbed at his food, pushing it around the plate, suddenly finding it tasteless.