Gemotions

The antique shop was usually a sanctuary for Arthur. Today, however, its usual charm felt…flat. He ran his hand over the dusty surface of a mahogany table, the wood’s imperfections offering no comfort. The aroma of old paper and beeswax, normally a source of delight, now did nothing to invigorate him. He wandered aimlessly, the ticking of a grandfather clock echoing the slow, dragging weight of his hours.

He saw her then, standing before a display of porcelain dolls. She was studying them intently, but he caught her yawning, her movements listless, just like his. She looked up, and their eyes met.

"Do you ever feel… disconnected?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Like you're observing life from behind a pane of glass?"

Arthur nodded slowly. He didn't know this woman, yet he felt a sudden kinship. "It's the Malory Syndrome, isn't it?" she added. He was stunned.