Gemotions

The takeout containers felt heavy in her trembling hands. Rain lashed against the window, blurring the city lights into streaks of orange and yellow. He'd said he was working late, again. A knot tightened in her stomach. Lately, everything felt like a tight knot. She’d heard snippets of unfamiliar sounds drifting from his office, a rhythmic cadence she couldn’t place. She opened the door, a forced smile plastered on her face, and saw him hunched over his laptop, a book propped open beside him. "Hey, honey," she said, her voice a little too high. He glanced up, his expression a carefully constructed mask.

"Hey," he replied, his gaze flickering back to the screen. She noticed then, a small notepad filled with unfamiliar characters. She recognized them. Her own family had always used this language. She knew her family's own dialect. A hot flush crept up her neck.

He started speaking to her in a way she never expected. In that same dialect. It was a perfect, unblemished, spoken tongue. The sound of it echoed through her, and she nearly broke down, unable to meet his gaze.