Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Liam’s forehead as he fiddled with the loose thread on his worn-out jacket. Across the table, Maya sipped her tea, her expression a mask of placidness that grated on his nerves. He needed her to understand. He *had* to. “Maya, you remember the night the storm hit, right?” His voice cracked, a shaky whisper in the sterile coffee shop.

She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting toward the window, as if the memory were etched on the rain-streaked glass. “Vividly.”

He leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly, knuckles white. “The lighthouse… it was already collapsing, wasn’t it? Pieces were flying off, and that’s when…” He trailed off, the memory – *his* memory – a chaotic jumble of wind and debris, of a desperate scramble for safety.

Maya blinked, her expression shifting to something akin to confusion. “Liam, the storm wasn’t that bad. The lighthouse wasn't damaged until the next morning. We stayed for hours, remember? It was beautiful, how the waves crashed.” Her voice was soft, laced with a gentle, almost mocking, patience. His stomach plummeted.