Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the art gallery, mirroring the storm brewing inside Leo. He’d tracked Maya down after years, a surge of optimism propelling him. Now, she stood before him, regarding him with a polite, almost clinical, interest. “I’m afraid I don't recall you, Leo,” she’d said, her voice a smooth, unruffled surface.

He refused to let the hurt show. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture casual, the tension in his jaw a different story. “The bike, Maya. Remember the bike? The one you used to borrow all the time? The one I painted that awful lime green?” He watched her, waiting.

She shook her head, her perfectly styled hair swaying slightly. “The color sounds...unappealing.” He almost laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. He wanted to scream, to smash something, to make her remember.

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the cool wall. “Well, it's nice meeting you, Maya. I wish you all the best.” He turned and walked away, not looking back.